Lost, Disturbed and Seeking Revenge
by ApplesBeyondTheWall
Summary: When her child is kidnapped, Bella is forced to contact the last person she wants to talk to for help.  The Father. All Human Cannon XX RE-Edited as of 9/23/12
1. Chapter 1

I started writing this story three years ago, and I have to say though my tastes have changed, I still enjoy this story to a T. I spent the day revamping and re-editing this story today, and I hope its slightly improved, I have horrible grammar to be honest, English never was my subject. I hope you enjoy it :) ~K

I do not own Twilight or any of its accessories. This is purely written for fun.

Chapter One

Bella Swan stared at the television screen and ground her teeth together until the pain shooting along her jaw made her let up. A scene taped earlier that day flickered on the ten o'clock news. Grinning broadly, James T. Smythe swaggered to a waiting limousine, a small group of supporters cheering him on from behind the prison gates.

James T. Smythe, the most notorious serial rapist in Forks Country's history, was free. And the tests Bella had performed in Washington's State Crime Lab were responsible.

Since the day she'd received the order to perform the DNA comparison between blood found under the finger nails of a victim and the DNA of the imprisoned Smyth, she'd feared this would be the result. But she'd hoped the police would be able to shoot holes in the impossible theory that Smythe had a DNA clone out there committing rape-before he won his appeal for new trial. She'd never dreamed the governor would bypass the criminal justice system completely and give the Smythe Pharmaceuticals heir a pardon.

She wrapped her arms around herself. She felt sick to her stomach. But as sick as she felt, she knew it had to be worse for Edward.

As if echoing her thoughts, Fork Country's new District Attorney Edward Masen's face flashed on the television screen next. Outwardly he looked the same as she remembered with hair the color of a bronze coin, the square jaw and cleft chin of a superhero. But he had changed in the past year and a half; she could see it clearly in the hardness of his now dull green eyes, and the rigid muscles along his jaw. He seemed even more judgmental than he had the last time she'd seen him. The time she'd been the one on whom he was passing judgment. The time she'd come up wanting.

She shoved the bitter memories from her mind. She couldn't waste her life being bitter. It wouldn't change anything, and looking at Edward's face on TV, the solemn line of his lips, the tortured squint of his eyes as he answered the reporters' questions bitterness was far from her reach. She felt only regret.

Bella pushed herself up from the couch and switched off the television. Wrapping her terry-cloth robe tighter around her, she padded out of her comfortable little living room on bare feet and started up the staircase leading to the bedrooms.

Reaching the top of the stairs, she strode past her own bedroom to the closed door at the end of the hall. She paused for a moment and listened. Hearing nothing, she turned the knob and pushed the door open.

Though Bella had closed the windows against the humidity, the air still smelled like fresh June night outside. She squinted her eyes against the darkness, the full moon obscured by drawn curtains. Only a feeble light from the hall chased away the shadows and revealed the white bars of the crib in the corner. The crib that held the most precious thing in her life.

She approached on stealthy steps and peered inside. Seven-month-old Luke lay on his back, his head turned to the side. His little chest rose and fell with each breath. As always, a wave of love and gratitude surged through her at the sight of him. His peaceful face, his clenched fists, the tiny cleft in his chin.

Just like his daddy's

She meant to tell Edward at first, even after the blowup. After all, he'd had a right to know. She'd even telephoned him a few times, but he'd refused to take her calls. And whenever she'd forced herself to drive to his house, she'd invariably driven away without stepping from her car. She just couldn't make herself face him.

She'd kept seeing the scorn in his eyes when she'd defended her father, when she'd taken her first wrong step. She'd kept hearing Edward's bitter words the last night they were together, the night her refused her a second chance, the night he told her he didn't want her.

She shook her head, shutting out his words, and focused on her child's innocent face. No matter what Edward had done to her, he still deserved to know he had a child. And if things were that simple, she would have found a way to tell him.

But things weren't that simple.

Leaning over the crib gate, she reached out a finger to touch the soft dark bronze hair down on her baby's head. He'd given her the strength to go on after Edward's rejection, after her father's crimes and his subsequent death from his co-conspirator's bullet. Luke was her little man, her life. He was everything she had.

She couldn't risk losing him.

A feeling crept over her skin. A feeling that had nothing to do with the child sleeping in the crib. A feeling of being watched by malevolent eyes.

She jolted up right. Too late. A hand closed around her throat, a sweet smelling cloth closed over her nose and mouth.

She held her breath she she couldn't scream. If she did, she'd drag the fumes into her lungs, she'd lose consciousness. She wouldn't be able to fight, she kicked back connecting with a shin.

A guttural growl exploded in the darkness. "Damn bitch."

She flailed her arms, trying t o hit her attacker, trying to loosen his grip. Swinging low with one hand, she hit his hip, her fingers grasping something soft hanging from his belt. A rope. Oh, God, he intended to tie her up. Or just slip the ligature around her throat. Once that happened, she didn't stand a chance. Panic bolted through her. She flailed harder. Once first connected with the side of his face.

Another curse erupted from his lips. The hand on her throat tightened, cutting off her breath. Cutting off her life.

She hit him again, trying to put more force into the punch, but he only gripped her throat harder. Her pulse beat in her ears. Dizziness swam in her mind. Her fist connected again. She needed air. She couldn't let herself pass out.

Suddenly the grip on her throat loosened.

She gasped in a breath. Then another. She tried to twist in his grip, tried to her away, but he held her fast, the cloth clamped over her mouth and nose. The scent of chloroform tickled her sinuses and filled her lungs. Her head reeled dizzy, and slipping.

A loud thump is heard as she falls to the ground. She looks up to see a flash of blonde hair right before,

**Darkness closed over her...**


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

Isabella woke, a strange smell filling her nostrils, its sweet flavor tainting her mouth. Her stomach protested and her head whirled. What had happened? She lay still, willing her stomach to stop flipping, her head resting on the berber carpet in Luke's room.

Luke...

Memories rushed back. The hand gripping her throat. The cloth over her mouth and nose. The unmistakable smell of chloroform.

She jolted into a sitting position. Her stomach heaved. Her head pounded. She choked back her sickness and climbed to her feet. Two steps and she was at the crib gate, her fingers clutching the bars, her mind was scrabbling to process what she was seeing – and what she was not seeing.

The crib sheet glowed like pristine snow. Shadows from the mobile suspended above the crib danced across the expanse of the sheet.

The empty expanse of sheets.

Luke was gone.

Her heart lurched in her chest. She grabbed the side of the crib to keep from toppling over. It couldn't be. The only reason she had left to go on. Her baby... gone.

She knelt beside the crib and looked underneath, straining her eyes, desperately searching the shadows. As if she believed he'd crawled out. As if she believed her seven-month-old was suddenly able to play a game of hide-n-seek with his mommy. Even in her panic, she knew he was gone. She knew it, but she didn't want to believe it. There had to be another explanation. There had to be, however impossible.

A phone's ring jangled above the roaring in her ears. Cold dread welled up inside her, swamping her, drowning her. She forced herself to concentrate. Forced herself to turn away from the empty crib. Forced herself to walk down the hall to her bedroom.

The telephone waited on her bedside table, its light throbbing in the shadows with each ring. She picked up the receiver and held it to her ear in a shaking hand.

Far away she heard her voice say, "Hello?"

"I came for you tonight, Isabella." The voice slithered from the phone.

She gripped the receiver until her knuckles ached. "Where's my baby?"

"Like I said, I came for you tonight, but I found something better."

"Where's my baby?" Her voice broke, shrill with panic.

"He's safe. For now. But if you call the police he won't be safe for long."

Oh, God. Oh, God. Her mind raced. She didn't know what to do. "Don't hurt him. Please. I'll pay you anything you want."

"I don't need your money."

"Then what? What do you want me to do?"

A chuckle erupted over the phone. "I was waiting for you to ask that. I want you to contact the baby's father."

"The baby's father?"

"You know who he is, don't you, Isabella? Or do you need to do a DNA test to find out?"

She did her best to swallow her panic, she had to stay calm, focused. She had to convince this man she would do whatever he wanted. As long as he didn't hurt Luke, as long as he gave her baby back, everything would be all right. "I know who he is."

"Good. It's much better when you don't have to rely on DNA. It's such an unpredictable science. All the double helixes running around, or whatever the hell. You never quite know when you're going to get an inconvenient match that will ruin all your plans."

Understanding cut through the fog of panic and confusion clouding her mind. The chloroform. The rope. All elements of the rapes he'd been convicted for two years ago. She knew who was on the other end. She knew who had stolen her baby. "Smythe."

"Can't put anything past you smart scientist types." A chuckled rippled over the phone line, vulgar, obscene. "How about that justice system isn't it great?"

"Why are you doing this?"

"Revenge. Pure and sweet." His voice lost the chuckle and grew dark. "You see, I know who fathered your bastard, too, sweet Isabella. And no man condemns me to two years in that hellhole of a prison and gets away with it. No man. I want you to tell him that."

How in the world had Smythe learned Edward was Luke's father? Isabella hadn't told a soul, she'd taken a leave of absence from work to hide her pregnancy. She hadn't even listed Edward on Luke's birth certificate. But it didn't matter how Smythe had learned the truth, he was planning to use the baby against Edward. She couldn't let that happen.

"Your plan isn't going to work, Smythe. Edward doesn't even know about Luke."

"He will after you tell him."

Tell Edward? She could tell him, not now, not after all this time. "But I-"

"You what?"

Her knees wobbled. She sank onto the bed, grasping the edge with one hand to keep her balance. "I'll do whatever you want. I'll tell him tonight."

"I thought you'd see things my way. You want me happy, Isabella. For your baby's sake, you want me happy. Understand?"

"Yes, I understand." She forced herself to breathe. She had to do something, anything. Spotting the memo button on the answering machine, she pushed it. At least she could get Smythe's voice on tape. She'd have proof of his threats. "After I tell Edward, then what?"

"I'll call."

"Can't you tell me more now? Can't I do something? Please." She couldn't just sit and wait. No while Luke was in the hands of this monster. Not while her baby was hungry, cold and wanting his mother. Not while Smythe might- She bit the inside of her cheek until the coppery taste of blood tinged her mouth. She couldn't think about what Smythe might do to Luke. She couldn't function if she thought about that.

"You just let Masen know he has a son. I'll be in touch."

"Please. You can't do this! Give him back to-" The line went dead.

JAMES SMYTHE pulled his sweet, red Corvette to the curb in front of the little ranch house and killed the engine. Isabella Swan's questions and challenges still rang in his ears. Damn. A woman's mouth was only good for one thing, and it sure as hell wasn't talking. He couldn't stand women who talked too much. Especially the smart, superior types like Isabella. He would have loved to do what he'd planned to do to her last night at her house. He would have loved to grab her by her long brown hair and put her in her place. He had been looking forward to it.

But then he'd seen the baby.

He glanced at the sleeping bundle next to him on the passenger seat. His little pajama-clad body. His bronze hair that barely covered his scalp.

James had learned a lot about Edward Masen while he'd been stewing at that hellhole. A lot about him. He knew Masen and the brunette had been tight. They'd almost been married, the private investigator he'd hired had said. That's why James had chosen her as his first victim after getting out of prison. That coupled with the fact that she'd performed the DNA test that had gotten him out of prison seemed too ironic a combination to pass up. But seeing the kid had thrown him, he'd figured the kid had to be Masen's.

Just as his chat with the brunette had confirmed. James gathered the sleeping kid in his arms.

Throwing the strap of the bag filled with baby things he'd swiped from the bedroom over his other shoulder, James climbed out of his Vette. He carried the child to the door of the house and rang the bell.

A light blinked on in the bedroom, great Nanny had been asleep. She wouldn't be happy with him for waking her, but it couldn't be helped. As soon as she saw the baby, she'd forgive him, Nanny never could hold a grudge.

The frilly white curtain over the front door's small window lifted and a withered eye peered out. It widened in surprise. The curtain fell and the door rattled then opened.

"Do you know what time it is, James?" Nanny stood in the doorway watching him with stern yet gentle eyes, the way she used to every day when he was growing up.

For a moment he felt like a puny little kid again, crawling to Nanny for comfort after his mother had treated him to another one of her cruel and belittling tirades.

He shoved the feeling aside and stepped past the old woman and into the house. He would never be puny and weak. Never again. And neither Edward Masen's scathing words nor Isabella Swan's superior tone would make it so. Tonight he hadn't come for Nanny's comfort. He'd come for her help. He walked into a tiny living room jammed with so much furniture it would have looked like a warehouse if not for the crocheted doilies covering every surface.

Nanny followed him on tottering legs. "What do you have there? A child?"

He turned his best pitiful expression on her. "My child, Nanny. His mother doesn't want him. She abandoned him as soon as I was freed from prison."

"Your child? That child is too young. You were in prison when it was conceived."

"Haven't you heard of conjugal visits? They arrange them for prisoners, you know."

She nodded as if this was a totally plausible explanation. James laughed to himself. If she bought that story this was going to be easier than he'd thought.

"I was in love with his mother. I wanted to marry her." He dropped his head as if he were ashamed. "Unfortunately she didn't feel the same way."

Pity and concern washed over Nanny's wrinkled face.

"I need your help, Nanny. I need you to take little Bart."

She frowned.

"You know me." He continued. "I can't take care of myself let alone a baby."

"Well that's true enough."

"Besides, I want my son to have the best care a boy can have. I want him to have the only thing that was good about my childhood. I want him to have you."

Nanny's old face softened into a smile amazing. Sometimes he didn't even have to come up with a lie to manipulate people. Sometimes he only had to tell the truth.

She held out her arms for the baby. "Give him here, I hate to see you worrying about your poor child, James. Not after all you've been through. You're right, he's better off with me."

Andy placed the baby in her arms and set the bad on the floor. Then he slipped his wallet from his pocket and pulled out a wad of hundreds and set them on a crocheted doily.

The old lady eyed him, hardness stealing back into her face. "I'm not taking your money, boy."

"The baby needs things, I want my son to have the best. This money is for him."

She paused then nodded, her thin, wrinkled lips stretching into a smile once again. "You're a good daddy, James, taking care of your baby this way. I'm proud of you."

James couldn't keep the grin off his face. A good daddy. That was him, a regular chip off the old Smythe block. He stifled his laugh until he bade the old woman goodbye and closed the door behind him.

The baby would be safe and well cared for with Nanny. Contrary to what he'd told the brunette, he had no intention of hurting the kid. He wasn't a sicko, unlike some of the scumbags he'd done time with. And he was no baby killer, either. The baby was safe.

But the father? Not a chance. The baby would give James just the leverage he needed to turn Edward Masen's life into a living nightmare. And in the process, he'd see he got a piece of the oh-so-superior brunette, too.

Revenge would be so sweet...

ISABELLA SWAN gripped the wheel with white-knuckled fingers and struggled to quell the trembling that claimed every nerve. Stomping on the accelerator as hard as she dared, she steered her Volvo XC60 around sharp corners and down quiet streets. She trained her eyes on the road ahead, keeping her gaze from wandering to the rear view mirror, to the reflection of the empty child's safety seat belted in the back.

She couldn't give in to the panic, the rush of loss that threatened to overwhelm her. She had to stay rational. She had to reach Edward. She had to get Luke back.

And whatever that took, she'd do it.

The roof line of Edward's sprawling old bungalow loomed on the edge of the lake, a dark shadow against the moonlight-kissed waves beyond. Isabella swerved onto the dead end street, pulled to the curb and scrambled from the car.

Built into the bank of Lake Ozette, Edward's house was his pride and joy. Bella could still picture the satisfaction on his face the day he'd bought the scarred old former fraternity house and started putting his renovation plans into motion. It was as if he'd finally arrived, finally proven he had transcended his desolate upbringng.

Her heart pounded in her ears, drowning out the lapping of the waves against the shore. The humid June air clogged her throat. She climbed the stone steps and stepped onto the porch. A light shone from the back of the house, pressing a trembling finger to the doorbell, she held her breath.

A chime sounded through the old structure. Footsteps thudded on the hardwood floor inside.

The door opened...

"Bella." Edward stood silhouetted against light glowing behind him. But even in the shadow she could see his brow furrow, the muscles along his cleft chin hardening in unswerving judgment.

Some things never changed, but his judgment of her didn't matter. Not anymore, the only thing that mattered now was Luke. Isabella forced her voice to function. "I need to talk to you."

Behind his wire-rimmed glasses, his jade green eyes seemed to grow darker, harder. He took in a deep breath and expelled it. "I suppose you heard about the governor's pardon."

"Yes."

"Is that what you need to talk about?"

"In part, yes."

"Is it something about the testing you did? Something I should know?"

After Smythe's pardon today it was logical Edward would assume she was coming to see him about the DNA test she'd done – the test that had sprung the rapist from prison. "No. It's not that. The testing was accurate. The two samples were a match."

His gaze raked over her, as if trying to determine her true motive for showing up on his doorstep.

"I need your help." Her words trembled with barely controlled panic. "It's urgent."

As if hearing the edge in her voice, he gave a succint nod and backed from the doorway, allowing her inside.

As she stepped into the house, a shiver stole up her spine. Sights, smells, and feelings from the past washed over her. The tickle of dust in her nose as she and Edward hauled box after box of ancient junk from the attic after he bought the house. The scent of pain, varnish and wallpaper paste as they reclaimed the scarred walls and floors. The sound of empty halls. The memories of happy times, before her father's crimes, before she learned exactly how precarious her position in Edward's heart.

She shut the memories out of her mind. They were merely sentimental longing and she didn't have time for sentiment. "Can we sit down?"

His eyes narrowed to suspicious slits. "You can't tell me here?"

Her knees quivered. "Please, I need to sit down and so should you."

He raised his brows at her last comment. But instead of grilling her further, he mercifully turned and led her through the house.

She followed, forcing her eyes to move over her surroundings. Forcing her mind to focus on something safer than the panic thrashing inside her, threatening to shred what little control she had.

Edward had changed things since she'd helped him decorate following the renovation. He'd replaced the simple curtains she'd chosen with wood-slat blinds. He'd furnished the rooms with heavy leather instead of the light-fabric couches and chairs she'd helped him select. It was as if he'd obliterated her from his life. As if she'd ceased to exist in his world.

And of course, she had.

But he'd never disappeared from her world, his presence was far deeper than blinds and furniture. She felt his presence every time she looked into Luke's green eyes or kissed that tiny cleft chin.

Luke

Panic rose in her throat like bile. Choking it back, she followed Edward into the glassed-in back porch they used to sit in together watching thunderstorms come in off the lake. He gestured to a wicker chair. She took her place among the cushions.

He lowered himself into a chair facing her. "We're sitting. What is it?"

She tangled her fingers together in her lap and took a deep breath. There were so many things that had been said between them. And even more things that had not been said. Before she told him about Luke, she had to give him some idea why she hadn't told him about his son. She had to make him understand.

"I tried calling you. Several times. After my father was killed. You refused my calls. And you didn't call back when I left messages on your machine."

Edward's brows snapped low over his eyes. "I didn't want to talk to you, Bella. I don't want to rehash the past. I hope that's not why you came here tonight."

"You turned your back on me, Edward. And my only crime was that I loved my father."

He stood and paced the length of the sun porch. He stopped, his back to her, his shoulders obviously tight under his crisp white dress shirt. Slowly he turned to look at her with hard eyes. "Your father was a criminal. The worst kind of criminal. He used his title of district attorney to see justice. He perverted the entire system. And you defended him."

"He was my father. I didn't believe he could do something like that."

"You didn't want to believe it. You didn't want to believe me."

She swallowed into a dry throat. "That's why I called. That's what I wanted to tell you. I was wrong about my father. That I was sorry I didn't believe you when you first told me what you suspected. But that's not what I wanted to tell you."

"What are you saying? Why are you here, Bella?"

"I wanted to tell you I was pregnant." She rubbed her clammy hands over her jeans and willed herself to look at Edward, to meet his gaze. "I gave birth to our son seven months ago."

Edward didn't move. He didn't even seem to breathe. "I have a son." It wasn't a question, but a statement of fact.

"Yes."

He folded himself himself into a chair. Taking off his glasses, he rubbed a hand over his face. "Why didn't you tell me Isabella!"

"You didn't answer my phone calls remember?"

"You could have come to see me. You could have made me listen."

She could have. She'd known it then, and she knew it now. If she'd really wanted to tell Edward, she wouldn't have let anything stop her. "I was afraid."

"Afraid of what?"

"Afraid you would take him away from me."

A muscle tensed along his jawline. "Why the hell would you think that?"

She shot him an incredulous look. What she'd done and been wrong, cowardly. But she'd had reason. "Because you hated me, Edward. You were so hard, uncaring and judgmental. You shut me out of your life and wouldn't give me a second chance. And after what my father did, there isn't a single judge in Forks Country who wouldn't be biased against me in a custody fight, wrong or not."

"So you thought I would use your father's sins to convince the court you were an unfit mother?"

"I couldn't take the chance."

His face flushed with anger. Cords of muscle stood out along his neck. "First you believed I was lying about your father, then you believed I would rob my son of a mother. What kind of rotten SOB do you think I am?"

"I don't – I didn't – I was afraid."

"You should have trusted me to do the right thing. You should have damn well told me."

She sat still and let his anger buffet her. He was right, she'd known it in her heart all along. She should have told him. Despite her fear. Despite the risk. "I'm here now. I'm telling you now."

"Why are you here now, Bella? Why did you pick tonight of all nights to tell me I had a son?"

"Because..." She forced the words through the thickness in her throat, though the fear of tightening her lips.

**"Because he's gone..."**


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three

"Gone?" Edward's heart stuttered in his chest. He shot up from his chair, muscles tensed to fight. "What the hell do you mean?"

Isabella took in a shaky breath as if trying to hold back tears. "I went into Luke's room late last night to check on him, and I felt something off. He was in his crib at the time, but we weren't alone..." She trailed off in deep thought trying to remember.

"What happened? Who was it?" Edward demanded, still trying to make sense of what was going on.

"He grabbed me, grabbed my neck and cut off my breathing. He held a chloroform soaked cloth to my mouth, I tried not to inhale it, I tried to fight him off." She looks up at Edward with begging eyes. "But he won, the last thing I remember is seeing his blonde hair after falling to the floor."

She looks down at her lap, quiet for a moment, before she whispers softly. "It was Smythe."

"Smythe?" Are you sure?" Edward had been living and breathing James T. Smythe in the months since the DNA match had been made. But now that he had learned he had a son, it was different. The fact that James T. Smythe had kidnapped the son he had never met, washed over him, drowning him in reality.

"Smythe called me. Somehow he knew you were Luke's father. He took Luke, my baby..." She starts tearing up, but quickly regains her strength. "To get back at you, for convicting him two years ago."

Rage, pure and hot, surged through Edward's blood. Smythe had kidnapped his son. His son. If the son of a bitch wanted to make things personal, he'd succeeded. And he'd soon wish he hadn't. If Edward had anything to say about it, the scum would be strung up before daybreak. Crossing to the door in three strides, he left Bella huddled on the porch. His footsteps thundered down the hall, on the hardwood floor like the beat of war drums. Reaching the library, he circled his desk and reached for the cordless phone perched on the credenza.

"Wait." Finger poised over the number pad, he looked up into Bella's deep chocolate brown eyes. "Smythe told me if we got the police involved, I would never see Luke again." Her voice broke. Her eyes filled with tears, but she didn't let them wind down her cheeks. "If you call the police, he'll find out. He said he has sources. He could have someone watching us right now."

She was probably right about Smythe's sources. Heir to Smythe Pharmaceuticals, the poor little rich boy had endless money at his disposal. And money could corrupt even the purest police department. Or district attorney's office. Edward had seen it happen many times.

Expelling a long breath, he set the cordless phone on the desk and studied her face in the library's bright light. Fine lines framed her mouth and eyes. Shadows lurked in the hollows under her cheekbones, making her normally smooth face appear almost gaunt. He'd seen these signs of stress many times in his work. Hell, he'd grown up surrounded by desperation.

"So what else did Smythe say?"

"I have a tape. I recorded part of what he said." She pulled a tiny cassette from her pocket and held it out to Edward with shaking fingers.

Edward took the tape from her hand. After rummaging through his desk, he produced a microcassette recorder and slipped the tape inside, he pushed the play button.

James Smythe's voice wound through the library, smooth as a snake's hiss. Edward heard it many times in press conferences after court, in pleas from prison and it always sounded the same. No fear. No pity. Nothing but an unfeeling smugness that set Edwards teeth on edge.

Much more striking was the sound of Bella's voice. So naked. So desperate.

Edward tried to steel himself against the vulnerability in her voice. He tried to focus on Smythe's words. On what he was saying, only when the tape ended did he allow himself to look at her.

Her eyes searched his, desperate for answers. Answers he couldn't give.

He ejected the cassette. "That's Smythe, alright, but there are no threats on the tape. Nothing I can use to convince a judge to grant an arrest warrant."

Her gaze fell on the desktop. "I must not have pressed the button soon enough."

"What did Smythe say? Exactly. Think."

"He said I should tell you that Luke is your son."

He gritted his teeth. If Smythe hadn't demanded she tell him about Luke, he never would have known. That was clear enough, and that knowledge stabbed into him with the force of a sharp blade in malevolent hands.

He clamped down on the bleeding. What Bella would or wouldn't have done wasn't important anymore. "What else did he say?"

"That he'd be in touch with us. And he'd let us know what to do next."

Edward grimaced. That's what he was afraid of. Leveling her with hard eyes, he shook his head. "I'm not playing a part in any twisted puppet show Smythe has planned."

Her eyes widened. Leaning toward him, she gripped the edge of the desk. "If we do what he says, he'll give Luke back."

"Smythe has no intention of returning Luke."

"But he said – "

"I don't care what he said. He's not going to give Luke back to us, even if we play by every one of his damn rules. Smythe wants to humiliate me, to dominate me, to win. That's what he's about. Not fairness. Not keeping his word."

"He'll–" She swayed, clutching the desk for balance.

Edward circled the desk. He slipped his arm around her shoulders, propping her up.

After guiding her a few steps, he lowered her into a chair. The soft scents of strawberries and Freesias surrounded him, a bittersweet memory. Love. Trust. Things he'd once hoped they had togeter. Things they'd never really had a all. Finally he straightened, spun away from her and paced across the floor.

She gripped the chair's leather arms and held on. "We can't take the chance, Edward. We have to do what he says. I can't lose my baby."

"We aren't going to lose him." Though his voice barely rose above a whisper, it ran with the determination he felt deep in his gut. "I know Smythe and what I don't know. I'm damn well going to find out. I'll get our son back. If you want to help you'll have to trust me for once in your life."

Isabella raiser her chin. Tears glittered in her eyes making them sparkle like emeralds. Her lips tightened. "Why? What do you want me to do?"

Just as he'd thought. She didn't trust him anymore now than she had the day he'd told her that her father was selling plea bargains. An ache crept up his spine and settled in his shoulders. More than a year had passed since he'd last seen Bella. His feelings of bitterness and betrayal should be dead and buried by now. But they'd returned the moment he'd opened the door tonight and seen her distraught face. Smelling her scent and hearing the vulnerability in her voice had only deepened the ache.

And now to learn he had a son. They had a son. Together...

Pressure constricted his chest, tighter than a steel band. He shoved the thoughts and feelings aside. He couldn't let himself think about what having a son might mean. He had to focus. He had to formulate some kind of plan. And the first part of that plan was to ensure Smythe didn't have the opportunity to strike again. "I want you to go home. Try to get some sleep. I'll arrange for some plain clothes officers to watch your house. Smythe and his sources will never know they're cops."

Her eyes grew wide with alarm "You can't shut me out. I need to help find Luke!"

"I'm not shutting you out. I'll call you as soon as I learn anything"

She raised her chin in a determined way of hers and shook her head. "I'm not going anywhere."

"You need to be home in case Smythe calls."

"I forwarded the calls to my cell phone. If he calls, I can answer wherever I am." She dipped a hand in her pocket and pulled out a phone as an offer of proof. "I know you don't want to have anything to do with me, Edward. For God's sake, you didn't before you knew I didn't tell you about Luke. But I can't just sit at home knowing that monster has him Surely you can understand that."

He could understand far to much about how Bella must be feeling, even after all this time. That was the problem. And it would be even more of a problem if Smythe figured that out. And from all indications, he had. "IF you stay home I cam arrange for protection. The police can turn your house into a regular fortress. If you don't, you'll make things much tougher."

"Protection? For me?"

"Yes, for you. You said Smythe used chloroform on you when he broke into your house last night?"

"Yes."

"I'm betting he was also carrying rope."

He could tell by her expression the answer was yes. She shook her head hard, her brunette hair lashing her cheeks. Obviously she'd guessed where he was going. And she didn't want to hear it.

Tough. She had to face facts. He had. "Smythe isn't a kidnapper, Bella. He isn't a man who targets children, either. He rapes women. He was planning to get revenge on me, by attacking you."

Though she seemed to know what was coming, a shudder still shook her.

He fought off the need to rush to her side again, to encircle her with his arms and let her lean against him. "Are you okay?"

Gripping the chair until her knuckles turned white, she nodded. "So you think he came after me and stumbled upon Luke?"

"That's what I'm guessing. He must have figured out Luke was my child, and that kidnapping him would present an even greater opportunity for revenge.

"But if that's true why didn't be rape me too?"

"Do you remember what he did to those other women?"

She pulled back in her chair as if flinching from her own thoughts. "He kidnapped them."

Edward nodded. "He took them to a private place, a place no one would discover them, and he raped them for hours. His last victim was attacked for days. I'm sure he wanted to do the same to you, but he couldn't handle kidnapping but you and Luke at the same time."

"So he settled for Luke."

"For now." Edward looked her strait in the eye. He'd been being this blunt, but Bella had to face the facts. Smythe had Luke and she was next. And who knew what other targets Smythe had on his list. No one or nothing Edward had ever cared about was safe.

"but how did he know about us Edward? We didn't exactly announce our relationship from the rooftops. How would he know that you and I were once involved? That Luke was your child?"

"That's one of the things I'm going to find out."

Straightening her spine, she set her chin. "So where do we start?"

"We keep you safe. I'll post officers outside your house 24/7. And I'll look into getting you an alarm system. I'll keep you updated on everything I learn. I promise.

"No. I'm not going to stay trapped in my house. I don't care what Smythe was planning. I have to do something to get my baby back." Tears spiked her lashes, but her voice carried determination.

"Isabella – "

"I mean it, Edward. If you don't let me help you, I'll figure something out on my own."

The thought of Bella by his side made his shoulders ache like a son of a bitch. But he couldn't let her walk around without protection.

Thrusting himself to his feet, he paced across the room. Damn Smythe and his sick revenge. Damn the governor and his pardons. And damn Isabella for failing to tell him he had a son until the baby was kidnapped.

And most of all, damn him for letting her latest betrayal wound him all over again.

He strode to the door without looking at her. He couldn't Looking at her would only make him want to take her into his arms again when we would be better off to run in the other direction. "There are fresh sheets in the guest room closet. We'll leave for the prison where Smythe was held first thing in the morning."

LOCATED IN SEATTLE AREA, a skip and a jump from the quiet Olympic Peninsula, to the loud busy streets of Seattle, Bella had always thought the area was beautiful. But today she hardly noticed the scenery whizzing past the car window. She hardly noticed anything except the man sitting next to her, his hands gripping the steering wheel.

Tall and fit, he looked every bit appealing as the first time she'd met him. The pull of attraction had reached into her chest and grabbed her by the heart when her father had introduced her to his protege, the newest assistant district attorney in the office. But it wasn't until she'd talked to him later that night, until she'd seen his intelligence, humor and idealism that she'd lost her heart.

And she still hadn't recovered it. Of course now it was bloody and wounded. Damaged goods. As was she. Especially in Edward's eyes.

No matter what had happened between them, she could never regret their time together. She couldn't even regret her shattered heart. Because if it weren't for Edward, she wouldn't have Luke. And any kind of pain was worth enduring for one moment of holding her little boy in her arms.

Luke. Her arms ached to hold him. When she'd awakened this morning, she'd never felt more alone that the day her father died. Even after months of hiding her pregnancy, going through childbirth, and waking at night to care for little Luke hadn't been hard. Now Luke was gone. Now she had no one and No way of ensuring that her baby was safe, fed and cared for.

She focused on the road ahead. "What are we looking for at the prison?"

"Someone helped Smythe smuggled his blood out. That's the only way it could have ended up under that woman's fingernails – the women who claimed she was raped."

"So we check the prison sign n sheet?"

"And phone logs. I want to see who he's been talking to."

"I assume you've questioned the alleged rape victim?"

"The police talked to her when she reported the rape. But she disappeared right after your lab discovered the blood was a match with Smythe's. Area sheriffs' departments have been looking for her ever since. That leaves only one person who smuggled Smythe's Blood out of prison."

"Maybe that person was her. What was her name?"

"Tanya Cleever. And it's doubtful she did the smuggling. The police found nothing to tie her to Smythe. And they looked hard, believe me."

She could imagine. No one in law enforcement liked to be thrown a curve ball like the one the'd been tossed. If they couldn't clear up the question about Smythe's DNA double, DNA evidence could be called into question in courtrooms across the country. But to her, that possibility paled in comparison to prospect of never seeing her son again. "So we find out who visited him?"

Edward nodded, his gaze glued to the twisting road ahead. "And hope we come away with some answers."

"Hope? That isn't very reassuring."

"It's all I have. If you have a better idea, spit it out."

Bella bit her bottom lip and stared out the windshield as Edward pulled his car up to the outer gate of the prison. Rolls of razor wire glinted in the sun. Sharp and brutal and unforgiving.

She shivered. Just the thought of venturing inside the gate with kind of men she did her part to put behind bars every day made her skin crawl. But if it meant finding a name on those visitor logs or phone records that would lead them to Luke, she would walk a gauntlet through the cell blocks alone.

She glance at Edward, jaw set and eyes narrowed, he looked ready to fight the world. Despite his anger toward her, despite his judgment of her, despite all that had happened between them, hew was with her now. And would fight with her to find their son.

For the first time in over a year,

**She didn't have to fight alone.**


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Four

Isabella walked through the door Edward held open and into the jumble of aromas and laughter in the Schectler Brew Pub. Her stomach knotted with tension. She clutched her hands together in front of her to keep them from trembling.

She scanned the crowd of faces. A pair of dark eyes met hers. Eyes that belonged to the receptionist at the district attorney's office. Jessica Stanley had joined the district attorney's office only a year before Bella's father had died, but she had always been so open and friendly, Isabella used to think of her as a sister. Or at least a friend. But judging by the way Jessica narrowed her eyes at the sight of her and Edward together, Bella's fears about venturing into the brew pub were more than justified. No doubt other D.A.'s office employees would lose their smiles when they spotted her. The pariah. Charlie Swan's daughter.

She shouldn't have come here. Shouldn't have come to the spot Edward said had become the after-work hangout for A.D.A.'s – assistant district attorney's. She should have done as Edward wanted and let him handle questioning Aro Cohen.

No.

She raised her chin and stepped forward into the pub. She would face whatever scorn she had to, to find Luke. Even the contempt of the whole damn town. And if Mike Newton was carrying on her father's legacy, if he had helped Smythe in exchange for money, she would face that, too.

With Edward leading the way, she marched across the hardwood floor and wound through tables and patrons until they reached a vacant spot at the bar. Jovial laughter and conversation jangled in her ears. Laughed and conversation that stilled as she bellied up to the bar.

Trying to appear oblivious to the stares she focused straight ahead. Two men worked behind the gleaming oak bar, taping the famous Schettler beer and chatting with patrons. But one of the men wasn't with his fellow district attorneys after work wasn't a bartender by trade. Not by a long shot. The tall, honey blonde hair, Texan serving drinks and hobnobbing with his fellow district attorneys after work was one of the best and most dedicated prosecutors in this or any other county. And he used to be her father's right-hand man.

The man her father had tried to kill.

"It's about time you joined us down here, Edward." Jasper Hale's smoky drawl rose over the laughter and hum of the other voices in the bar. "You haven't been in here since my last birthday."

Edward gave him a nod. "I don't want to do too much socializing with the troops, you know. Bad for the image. Pretty soon they'll start seeing me as a human."

"No one could make that mistake." Jasper lowered one lid in a teasing wink.

Isabella was surprised by the camaraderie forged between the two men. They hadn't seen eye to eye on anything before her father's death. Of course, her father had nurtured the rift between them.

Jasper gave Edward one last grin before focusing on her. The smile fell from his lips. "Howdy, Isabella."

Somewhere she found the strength to nod. "Jasper."

A thousand heart beats passed before he spoke again. "The Hefe Weizen is wonderful. You should try it. Alice really outdid herself on this one." His lips stretched into a gentle smile. And accepting smile. "On the house."

Bella's breath escaped in a tortured whoosh. Jasper Witlock had a heart the size of his native state, if he could welcome her after what her father had tried to do to him and the woman he had since married. "Thanks, Jasper."

As if she'd heard Bella's thoughts Alice Brandon Hale rounded the corner into the bar, flashing her husband a wide smile. Even though she was dressed in a boxy apron, the round shape of her pregnant belly was clearly visible.

Charlie Swan's crimes against Alice were the worst of all. He and his accomplice, Harry Clearwaterhad tried to kill Alice's daughter to keep her quiet after she'd witnessed her own father's murder. Isabella had never met Alice. And even after Jasper's reaction, she didn't want to meet her now.

"Jasper I have to go pick up Amanda from her gymnastics class. Can you hold down the fort until night shift gets set up?"

"Sure thing, darlin'."

Alice's gaze landed on Edward. She gave him a big smile and poked her husband in the shoulder. "Haven't you gotten Edward a beer yet, Jasper? It isn't often we have the district attorney himself here. How are you doing Edward?"

Edward returned her smile. "Nice seeing you again, Alice."

Alice's gaze moved to Bella. "Aren't you going to introduce us?"

Isabella held her breath. She would give anything to crawl into a hole about now.

Edward didn't even flinch. "This is Isabella Swan."

Alice's gray eyes widened. "Isabella –"

"Swan." Bella pulled herself up, ready to take Alice's contempt square in the face. "I'm sorry for the hell my father put you through.

Alice took a deep breath. When she exhaled a polite smile lifted the corners of her lips. "Thank you. I'm sorry for the hell he put you through, as well."

Bella's throat closed. Since her father's death she'd felt ostracized from her former life, her former friends. People who knew she was Charlie Swan's daughter had cooled toward her as if her father's sins had tainted her. She'd lost more than Edward and her father the day Charlie died. She'd lost who she was – who she used to be.

Never had she expected to be welcomed by Jasper and Alice. Never had she dreamed she'd be welcomed back into the fold by the two people her father had hurt the most. "Thank you."

Jasper and Alice's acceptance was small comfort when faced with the hard line of Edward's mouth and the judgmental glint in his eye. She'd lost so much. So much that she'd never get back. No matter how much kindness strangers showed her, she could never regain the relationship that had meant the most to her. She could never undo the choices she'd made.

"So what will it be, Edward, Bella? " Jasper drawled. "Two pints of Hefe Weizen have your names on them."

Edward held a hand. He really should take Jasper up on the offer, try to do more to smooth over the rift that had been between them. But now wasn't the time. "We'll have to take a rain check, Jasper. I need to talk to Aro. Thought he might be here. Have you seen him?"

Jasper nodded and pointed to a booth in the corner. Tall and thin, Aro Cohen hunched over a beer alone. Perfect. He nodded his thanks to Jasper and started across the pub.

Bella walked close enough behind for him to catch the ghost of her scent, even over the aroma of cigarette smoke, fried food and beer. He'd tried to talk her out of coming to the pub with him. As angry as he was with her, he didn't want to see her hurt. And he'd been sure coming here, digging into old wounds Charlie had left in his wake, would only hurt her.

He blew a relieved sigh through tense lips. Leave it to Alice and Jasper to push aside there hatred for Swan to embrace his daughter. Now if Edward could only push aside his concern for Bella and focus on getting answers from Cohen, maybe they would get somewhere.

Reaching his destination, Edward folded himself into the booth, opposite of Aro. He moved over enough for Bella to slide in next to him.

"Hello Aro."

Aro Cohen looked up from his beer. A smile touched with the fine edge of cynicism spread over his lips."Edward, finally coming down from your ivory tower to join the fun?"

Cynicism wasn't uncommon in the district attorney's office. God knew they dealt with enough nasty people doing nasty things to one another to get a bit gadded over the years. But Aro Cohen elevated cynicism to an art form. Edward gestured to the bar. "The fun looks like it's going on over there, Cohen. Not here."

"Are you saying I'm not fun?" Aro Shrugged. "What else is new?" Cohen's gaze flicked to Bella. He sized her up with deep blue eyes that had no doubt melted a few woman's hearts along the way. This time, the smile that spread over is lips was of pure amusement. "I'll be damned. I haven't seen you in a long time, Bella."

Isabella smiled and nodded. "We have some questions for you, Aro."

Cohen crooked a brow and glanced from Bella to Edward. "So the two of you are a 'we' again?"

"No," Edward said without looking at Bella. He couldn't bear to see the hurt look on her face. He leveled a pointed stare on Cohen. "We just came from the prison in Seattle." He paused, watching Cohen's eyes.

If Aro had any reaction, he hid it well.

Edward went on. "It seems you've been out there recently, as well."

"And you want to know why?" Cohen's gaze darted away from them and landed on a waitress walking toward him with a plate stacked with a burger and thick wedges of fried potatoes. "About time. I'm famished."

The waitress served the food. "Would you like to order?"

"No. Thank you." Edward said without taking his eyes from Cohen.

Next to him, he could feel Bella shake her head. Satisfied everyone was taken care of, the waitress left.

"So why were you at the prison, Cohen?"

Aro paused, seemingly sorting through his memory. "What prison was that?"

Edward balled his hands into fists beneath the table. If the A.D.A didn't start giving him some straight answers, he'd either have to charge him with conspiracy or beat him to a bloody pulp.

"The one near Seattle." Bella supplied.

"Oh, yeah. I went there to talk to Smythe, your rapist the governor just let loose." He eyed Edward one corner of his lips crooking into a cynical grin. "But of course, that's why you're asking, isn't it?"

Aro took a bite of his burger. "Damn. I forgot to ask for ketchup. I can't stand being without it." He set the burger on his plate and opened his briefcase, that was set beside him on the table. Reaching inside, he pulled out a handful of foil packets containing ketchup. Ripping open a packet, he spread the condiment on his burger. He ripped open another packet.

Once more evasion and Edward would have to risk an assault charge. "Put down the damned ketchup, Cohen."

Aro raised surprised eyes to his face.

"What did you talk to Smythe about?"

Sighing, Cohen set down the ketchup and shook his head. "Nothing earth-shattering. Same old, same old. Remember that assault case where one convict jumped another in the county lockup? Just about killed the guy?"

"I remember."

"Smythe was a witness. It happened a while ago, back when he was still in jail, before he was transferred to Seattle."

Edward leaned forward in the booth. "The page you signed in on in the visitor's log was missing. Do you know anything about that?"

Cohen bit into his burger. When he finished chewing, he shrugged. "What is all this about Edward? You think I helped Smythe stage the recent rape? Shades of Fitz?"

Edward tried not to notice Bella squirm beside him. She raised her chin in that damned determined way of hers. "Did you?"

Cohen turned his smile on her. "Although I can almost understand Swan using the system for his own profit. I do still have enough scruples left not to unleash a rapist scumbag like Smythe."

Edward narrowed his eyes. He wanted to believe Cohen. But then what one wanted to believe and what was true often weren't the same thing. God knew, he should have learned that lesson long ago. He'd have enough teachers.

He glanced at Bella. Her forehead knotted with worry. Her lips tightened into a line.

Following Edwards gaze, Cohen watched her, as well. "Sorry to disappoint you, Isabella. But I guess I'm not as bad a guy as you thought."

She shook her head. "It's not that, Aro. We just need to find out who did help him."

"Hmm. Maybe I can help, after all."

Edward tensed. He leaned over the table. "Spit it out Cohen."

"There was a hearing for the jail assault case a week ago, and I had to spring Smythe for a day to testify. He had a girlfriend in the gallery. At least that's what it looked liked. She was smiling at him, lots of eye contact while he was on the stand. Sick woman."

"Who was she?"

"That's the interesting part. I ran into her one other time this week. She testified in one of my cases. Her name is Victoria Melbring."

Bella gasped.

Edward turned to her. "Do you know Victoria Melbring?"

Bella nodded and swallowed hard, as if trying to find the courage to face something she didn't want to face. "She's a forensic chemist. She works with me at the crime lab."

"HAVEN'T YOU HEARD?"Lauren Mallory looked down her generous nose at Isabella. A conspiratorial grin on her face.

Bella wasn't in the mood for guessing games. Last night had been hell. She'd spent it in Edward's spare room again after he'd refused to let her stay in her home until a security system was installed. She'd have rather stayed alone. He hadn't said two words to her all night. He'd merely retreated into his library with the telephone. So much for his promise not to shut her out.

She bit the inside of her bottom lip. She didn't know if she could stand one more night without Luke safe in her arms. She needed answers right now. And fast. She'd come straight to Lauren just for that reason.

A brilliant but lonely forensic chemist, Lauren had made other people's business her hobby. She spewed gossip the way Fourth of July fireworks spewed fireworks. And that's why Isabella was circulating in the crime lab's break room to learn what she could learn.

"I'm so out of the loop, Lauren. I haven't heard anything. What happened?"

Lauren's eyes sparkled, as if all the gossip stored in her mind was gunpowder and by asking that question, Bella had just set flame to the fuse. "Victoria Melbring does not work here anymore."

Isabella's heart plummeted. "Why not?"

"She quit two days ago. Didn't even give a notice."

"Two days ago." How coincidental that Victoria should quit the very day Smythe was released from prison. "No notice?"

"Not a peep. I didn't even know she was going to quit. But that's not the good part." She lowered her voice and leaned toward Bella over a table littered with candy wrappers and a paper bag lunch. "You'll never guess where she got a job."

Back to guessing games. "Where?"

"Think big company, lots of bucks. And they don't hand out jobs like at a parade. Let's just say she must have and in."

"Where, Lauren? Where did Victoria get a job?"

Lauren grinned, her whole body tensed with the excitement of being the keeper of gossip in demand. "Smythe Pharmaceuticals."

The name hit Isabella like a well-aimed fist. Now they were getting somewhere.

EDWARD COULD TELL Isabella had news the moment she pocked her head into her lab where he was sitting in front of her computer, waiting for her. Her eyes sparkled like emeralds under a jeweler's glass. Her cheeks flushed with color. The way she used to look, back when their biggest troubles were deciding which restaurant to chose among the dozens flanking State Street.

So different from the drawn look of fear she'd worn for the past few days.

She motioned him across the hall and into a vacant trace evidence lab and shut the door behind them, leaning back against the barrier.

"So?"

"Victoria Melbring quit two days ago. She has a new job."

The news zinged along his nerves like and electric charge. "Don't tell me. Her new job is with Smythe Pharmaceuticals."

"Bingo."

Edward reached into his pocket and pulled out his cell phone. "Do you have a number for them?"

Isabella just nodded. She disappeared from the lab for a few moments then reappeared with the Seattle phone book.

Edward paged through the thick book to locate the number and punched it into his phone.

"Smythe Pharmaceuticals," A professional-sounding woman's voice answered.

"I'd like to speak with Victoria Melbring, please."

A pause stretched over the line. "I'm sorry, there's no one here by that name."

"Are you saying a chemist by the name of Victoria Melbring does not work there?"

"That's right sir."

"Thank you." Edward punched the end button and slipped the phone back into his jacket pocket. "Damn. Is your gossip guru known for inventing stories."

Isabella watched him, the sparkle gone from her eyes, a furrow between her delicate brows. "No. Usually she just sticks to repeating them. But why would Victoria tell Lauren she had a job at Smythe Pharmaceuticals if she didn't?" Bella stuffed her hands into her pockets. "Unless Victoria expected to be offered a job but the offer never came."

"We won't know until we find her."

"So now we have two missing persons. Victoria Melbring and the alleged rape victim, Lurrenette Rasula."

He nodded. "That's what it looks like."

"I suppose we'd better get looking." She turned and grasped the doorknob, but didn't pull it open. "Wait!"

"What is it?"

She spun to face Edward, the sparkle back in her eyes. "Maybe we don't have to find Victoria to learn whether she stole that sample of Smythe's sample from the crime lab."

"I'm listening."

"When we take a blood sample for DNA or serum testing, we have to add a preservative to it so the liquid blood doesn't coagulate and start to decompose like blood normally would. The preservative is called E.D.T.A."

The name of the chemical rang a ball in Edward's memory. It had made the news during the O.J. Simpson case. "Isn't E.D.T.A. Present in blood naturally?"

"Only in trace amounts introduced by preserved food or other household products. But the blood sample taken from Smythe by the lab will have a very high E.D.T.A. content. If Victoria stole the blood from the lab sample, the blood found under the recent rape victims fingernails will have an equally high E.D.T.A. content."

"Trace amounts at most."

"How long will testing take?"

Isabella pursed her lips together like she always did doing mental calculations. "If we get a specialist who's used to doing the testing and you put a little clout behind the request. I'd say we could have results in about a day."

He couldn't stop the grin from spreading over his lips. "Set it up."

"I'll ready the sample myself. And I'll label the samples anonymous."

"Good thinking."

Isabella shot him a triumphant smile that hit him like a punch to the gut. He used to burst with pride at the thought of having this brilliant woman in his life, his bed. Whenever she made a contribute to a case, or found the answer to a tough problem as she had just now, he'd always felt like crowing.

He mentally shook his head. He no longer had a reason to be proud. Bella wasn't his anymore he hadn't wanted to truly face that before, he only reminded himself of the baby she'd hid from him.

He glanced at his watch. The day was trickling away.

Isabella opened the door to the evidence lab. "Hi Lauren." she smiled at the light haired woman and waited for her to walk past before stepping into the hall. She turned back to glance at Edward. "It'll just take me a few minutes to get the testing under way.

"So is should be complete by –" The beeping of Edward's cell phone cut off his thought. He retrieved it from his pockets and pressed the button. "Masen."

"I've got some news." Emmett Cullen's voice boomed over the line.

"What kind of news, Emmett?"

"Important news. Meet me at your office."

"Will do." Edward punched off the phone and met Bella's confused gaze.

**"We have to go to my office. Cullen has news."**


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter Five

Isabella fought to keep her breathing measured, her pulse rate under control as she and Edward rode the elevator to the fifth floor of the City County Building. There was only one reason Edward would have insisted she accompany him to the D.A.'s offices. If he merely wanted to protect her from Smythe, he could have left her at the crime lab with no worry. And he would have if Emmett Cullen's call pertained to a case she had no business hearing about. No, this had something to do with Luke.

Questions echoed through her mind. Had the police located their son? Was he all right? Or was the news much worse? Was is the unthinkable?

Taking a firm grip on the panic screaming along her nerves, she followed Edward down the hall and into the reception area. The place looked just as it had when her father was in charge, government-beige walls, Spartan furniture, a far cry from the richly appointed offices of private attorneys. Thees lawyers worked for the public, and it showed.

Jessica Stanley shuffled papers behind the counter as she always had when Charlie was alive. With one difference. Instead of greeting Isabella with a big smile, she avoided Bella's gaze, a guarded look in her saucer-size brown eyes.

Edward paused at the desk. "is Emmett Cullen here yet, Jessica?"

She motioned down the hall. "He's waiting in your office."

"Hold my calls."

The receptionist gave him a tense smile. "Certainly, ." Her head dipped back to her work.

Edward motioned to Bella to follow and strode back into the maze of hallways. Reaching the door of his office, he opened it and ushered her inside.

Steeping into the office, she braced herself. But the blow of memory she expected never came. The walnut desk of her father had used, had been replaced by a sturdy oak one. The leather chairs were gone, as well, an inexpensive vinyl taking their place. Even the art had changed. Instead of classic paintings of landscapes, modern prints brightened the walls. Edward and wiped Charlie's presence from the room as effectively as he'd wiped her presence from his house. And while the absence of memories was a relief, it also left her cold inside.

And alone.

"Isabella. What a nice surprise." Resting his heavy-set frame in one of the chairs facing Edward's desk, Emmett focused on her.

A shiver of fear worked its way up her spine. She'd always liked Emmett. His sense of humor and shrewd blue eyes along with his excellent police work had earned her affection and respect the few times she'd worked on his cases at the lab or ran into him at her father's or Edward's offices. And he seemed to be truly happy to see her. But for the life of her, she couldn't force a real smile to her lips.

"Why did you call, Emmett? What happened?"

Emmett glanced at Edward as if asking his permission to speak in front of her.

Edward nodded. "Go ahead. What have you found?" Propping a hip on the edge of his desk, he waited for Emmett's answer.

"Looks like our alleged rape victim is up north. Her family as a cabin up by Canada. The family's housekeeper thinks our girl has been living there the past few months."

Panic surged along Bella's nerves. Smythe's warnings not to involve the police rang in her ears. "No." She whirled to face Edward. "No police. He said no police."

Edward held up his hands as if warding off her assault. "I didn't call Emmett about Luke. He's been working on finding Lurrenette Rasula since she disappeared. His involvement has nothing to do with Luke."

"It has everything to do with Luke. What if Smythe finds out?"

"You've heard from Smythe?" Emmett glanced from Bella to Edward and back again, taking in far more than she wanted him to.

Bella shot Edward a concerned glare.

Edward looked away and focused on Cullen. "Smythe kidnapped our son."

"And he warned you not to involve the cops," Emmett supplied.

Cullen dug into his pocket and popped a piece of orange candy into his mouth. He bit down on the candy and ground it between his teeth as he processed the information. His sharp gaze traveled from Edward to Bella and back again. "Since when did you two have a son anyway? Or shouldn't I ask?"

The scent of orange filled the room, turning Isabella's stomach. "Edward just learned about him two days ago. He's seven months old. His name is Luke."

A smile spread over Cullen's lips. "Well congratulations. And if there's anything I can do behind the scenes to nail that bastard and bring your baby back, count me in."

"We'll drive up north and talk to Lurrenette Rasula today." Edward glanced at Bella. "But I do have another missing person."

"Just give me a name." Emmett said.

"Victoria Melbring. Until two days ago she was a chemist at the State Crime Lab." Edward offered.

Cullen's brow furrowed. He tapped them against his lips. "Victoria Melbring Mid-thirties, fiery red hair, average size, lives alone in a nice condo out in Port Angles?"

Edward Leaned back against his desk as if bracing himself. "What do you know?"

"Her mother is a friend of mine. I talked to her this morning. She came in and filled out a missing person's report. Her daughter was supposed to meet her two days ago and never showed. Hasn't been heard from since."

Dread grasped the back of Isabella's neck like a cold hand. "Smythe was let out of prison two days ago.

Edward nodded. "And I doubt we're talking about a coincidence here. Not where Smythe is concerned."

First Lurrenette Rasula was missing, then Luke, and now Victoria Melbring. No coincidence. Bella could feel it.

THE INVOIGORATING SCENT of pine trees and crisp air rushed through the open car window and hit Edward's face like a cool splash of aftershave. Beside him in the passenger seat, Bella pulled out a Washington map. She'd watched as the freeway had dwindled to a highway and finally to a country road. Apparently she wasn't taking any chances on ending up lost in the north woods.

They'd driven most of the four-hour trip in silence – a silence for which Edward was grateful for. Too many ugly scenarios were spinning through his mind. The fate of Victoria Melbring; what they would find when they located Lurrenette Rasula; and most of all, where was Luke?

And then there was Bella herself. The sparkle he had seen in her eyes at the lab and long since been extinguished. Lines of tension surrounded her pursed lips. Her fingers gripped the map as if it were a lifeline. No doubt the same horrible scenarios were plaguing her, as well.

He returned his gaze to the road. He couldn't think about how Bella felt right now. If he did, he'd only want to take her in his arms, to comfort her, to reassure her that everything would be all right. He had to focus on finding Lurrenette. He had to convince her to to tell everything she knew – about the false rape that sprung James from prison, about the rapist's plans for revenge, and about Luke's whereabouts. She was the only lead they had.

The winding country road widened, hotels and resorts began springing up alone the shores of the lake. Traffic increased. And the sparsely populated area turned into a resort town, complete with gift shops, gourmet restaurants and luxury hotels. Over-weight people wandered from shop to eatery, baring their shockingly white legs in shorts and dresses. And somewhere among the tourists was the woman they were looking for. The woman they had to find.

The address Emmett had given him was still folded in Edward's wallet, but he didn't have to slip it out to remember. He'd burned the street and number into his memory the first time he'd glanced at them. He had only to get through town and find the right road circling the lake, then Lurrenette and some answers would be his.

They reached Rasula summer home just as the sun was staring to slip beyond the bluffs on the other side of the lake. The orange of the sun's rays reflected on the water, turning the waves into tongues of fire. The home itself was bigger than some of the hotels in town. A rough-hewn cabin design, the house seemed to have more windows than logs. Isabella followed Edward up the curved walkway amid the blooms of perennials and colorful bushes. He mounted the front steps and pressed the doorbell.

The chime sounded through the house, echoing as if inside a church. They waited but there seemed to be no movement on the other side of the door.

Edward punched the doorbell again. Still no response. He tried jiggling the knob, but it diidn't move. The place was securely locked. "Damn."

"Maybe she went out for dinner or something."

"Maybe." He hoped her absence was something so innocent, so ordinary. But the tension winding up his spine suggested something different.

"You think something is wrong?' Bella's eyes searched his as if desperate for and answer.

He sure as hell hoped not. "She's probably just out eating dinner, like you said." Trying not to let Bella read his eyes, he walked down the steps and around the side of the house. He wasn't going to give up this easily. Lurrenette could have recognized him. She could be hiding inside the house, waiting until they left. But whatever the explanation, he wanted to know more before they gave up and found a hotel for the night.

Isabella followed close behind. They circled the house to the lake side. The ground sloped to the water. The house rose above them in three stories of glass and wood decking. A lakeside paradise.

Edward started up the steps leading to the tiered deck, Isabella on his heels. Tall pines stabbed into the sky on either side of them. The lake yawned like a black hole beneath them, waves tainted by the blue glow of twilight. Their footsteps thumped on the wooden stairs like an irregular heartbeat.

They reached the first level of decking. Edward moved to the sliding-glass doors. Shielding the reflected glow of the horizon behind him with his hand, he peered inside. Isabella caught up to him and did the same.

Pristine-white carpet and furniture scattered the living room. Dark shadows cloaked the hallways and kitchen beyond. But other than a half-full wine glass perched on the coffee table and an open magazine, there was no sign of life.

"It doesn't look like anyone is home." Isabella tried the door handle. It rattled, but didn't budge. "So what do we do now?"

Edward turned and headed for the stairs before the question had cleared her lips. "There's one more floor. Maybe we'll get lucky." He reached the stairs, his footsteps pounding out a rhythm as he started for the top deck.

The shadows grew deeper the higher they climbed. Tops of trees swayed in the breeze. Finally they reached the top deck, taller than all but the tallest pines. Light was fading fast from the sky. Long shadows deepened and spread over the deck, obscuring flowerpots and redwood furniture. Edward walked straight for one of the sliding-glass doors stretching the length of the deck.

Isabella dodged through a clutter of outdoor furniture obviously on her way to the windows stretching along the other side of the deck. "Edward." Her voice rasped as if her throat was being squeezed by a strong hand.

Edward spun around.

Her eyes were wide against her pale face. Her chest rose and fell with rapid breaths. She swallowed and looked down at her feet.

Edward followed her gaze to the shadowed form on the deck and looked into

**The glassy eyes of Lurrenette Rasula...**


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter Six

"We have to call the police." Isabella's voice rang in her own ears. Panic jangled through, her emotions kept in line by sheer force of will.

Edward knelt and touched his fingers to the woman's neck. "She's dead." Under his fingers, the bruises on her neck were dark blue and red, visible even in the dark shadow. They looked like the mottled outline of hands rather than the dark, precise line of a ligature. However, her wrists had been tied,dark bruised lines dug deep into the fragile flesh. And from the waist down, she was naked.

Anger and repulsion swirled in Bella's head until she was dizzy. "Smythe."

Isabella's gaze darted around the deck to the dark interior of the cabin. Anywhere but at the body inches in front of her feet. "Do you think he's here?"

Edward shook his head. "Her body is cool and rigor has set in."

"She must have been dead for a while then." Bella gasped for breath, but she couldn't seem to scoop enough oxygen into her hungry longs. Her head began to whirl, and for a moment she feared she might pass out.

Edward grasped her elbow and led her away from the body. "Smythe has no reason to hurt Luke. He needs him for leverage. He needs him in order to exert control over us. Over me."

Bella nodded, but her head wouldn't stop spinning. Her heart wouldn't stop pounding. Tears welled up in her eyes and spilled over her lashes.

Edward wrapped an arm around her and pulled her against his body. "Luke will be all right. We won't let anything happen to him."

Isabella couldn't stop shaking, couldn't stop tears from coursing down her cheeks. She'd tried so hard to be strong. But she couldn't do it anymore. She couldn't physically do it.

Edward grasped her chin and turned her face to his. His eyes drilled into her. "This has been hard for you. Harder than I can imagine. But you have to hold on. We'll get through this."

She tried to raise her chin and straighten her spine, but the tremor racking her body wouldn't allow it. "I'm okay."

"Like hell you are."

He was right. She couldn't breathe. She couldn't think, it was as if walls were closing in on her, walls she couldn't see. Cutting off her air, trapping her in terrible isolation.

Edward pulled her closer. His solidness, his warmth, broke down the walls. She wanted to be close to him, the father of her baby, the only human being feeling the same fear she felt.

The man she'd once loved.

They stood that way for a long while. And even though he was only holding her out of pity, out of concern, she could almost bring herself to believe that he was here with her, holding her because he cared about her. That she wasn't so alone.

And that was enough. That was everything.

She looked up into his eyes. "We have to go."

"I doubt Smythe is still here. He's too smart to risk being seen near Lurrenette Rasula. Especially now that she's dead.

"It's not that. I just have this horrible feeling." She clutched Edward's shirt with shaking hands. "Now that Smythe has covered his tracks, I'm afraid he's ready to make his next move."

Edward narrowed his eyes on her and nodded. "I think you're probably right." He pulled out his cell phone and punched 9-1-1. "The sooner we report this, the sooner we can get on the highway back to Seattle."

Isabella watched as he calmly reported the murder. But he didn't pull away from her. And she couldn't bring herself to break contact with him, either. Not now. Not yet. She needed his touch, his strength, to get through the next few hours. And somehow he must have recognized it.

Or maybe he needed it, too.

THE CAR'S TIRES hummed along the highway, snaking through the towering pine trees and darkness ahead. Edward gripped the wheel with one hand and slugged back hot coffee with the other. He didn't need the caffeine to stay awake – discovering Lurrenette Rasula's body, fielding endless questions from the local police. His mind was humming louder than the vehicle's spinning tires. But the coffee was warm and reassuring, and it filled the car with its rich aroma. A touch of normalcy in a day that had spun so out of control.

And if by some chance the fatigue of emotionally charged days and sleepless nights overcame the caffeine and seized control of his body, he had only to glance at the passenger seat next to him. Where Bella sat, her wide brown eyes staring straight ahead, her auburn hair wisping around her shoulders, and his blood would jolt him back to rigid attention.

He could still feel the press of her body against him. The way her sweet curves fit him. The way the fear in her eyes and the trembling of her flesh made him want to hold her and comfort her and never let her go.

He forced himself to focus on the darkness just beyond the glow of the headlights. He'd been so in love with her once, more in love than he'd ever believed he could be. But it had all been a fantasy. The last streak of romantic idealism to be snuffed out. Now he needed to keep himself anchored in reality. Bella hadn't trusted him. He couldn't forget that. She'd chosen to believe her father over him. And worst of all, she'd kept their baby from him.

His baby.

He hadn't let himself think of Luke since he'd learned he had a baby – and that baby had been stolen. He hadn't had the time or the luxury of thinking, of feeling. He'd focused on tracking down Smythe. On fixing the problem. But in the dark car, his imagination swirled around his like a chilling fog.

His son.

He used to think about having children. Of how he'd make damn sure he was a good father, a good provider, unlike his worthless old man. He'd even lain awake some nights wondering exactly how hie would go about fatherhood – considering his lack of role model.

But all that changed when Bella betrayed him and their relationship ended. Without a wife, he had no reason to contemplate being a father. At least, that's what he had believed.

And now, low and behold, he had a son. A son he might never know.

He glanced at Isabella despite himself. Posture rigid, she stared into the night as if facing her worst fears. He arms wrapped around her middle as though if she held on tightly enough, she could keep from shattering into a million pieces.

IT was hell for her, losing her son. Edward knew that. But couldn't help envying her nonetheless. At least she knew what she'd lost. She knew what Luke's little body felt like snuggled against her chest. She knew how his little face lit up when he laughed or what funny noises made him smile. Edward might never know those things. He might never know his on. And that made him saddest of all.

"Tell me about him. Tell me about Luke." His voice sounded flat over the hum of the tires. He was more empty and tired than he was aware he was feeling.

Bella's face jerked in his direction.

"I need to know." he forced a note of gentleness into his voice. "Tell me about my son."

Bella's eyes glowed in the green light of the dash. She searched his face for what seemed like an eternity. Finally she took a deep breath. "He was born on a Thursday afternoon." Her lips lifted at the corners. Her eyes took on a faraway look. "I went though thirty-five hours of labor, and I was so tired I truly thought I wasn't going to make it. But when I first saw him, none of it mattered."

From the look on her face, he knew it wasn't just the pain and exhaustion of labor she was referring to. But the torment she'd lived through after her father's death. And the stress of having a baby alone. "I should have been there."

"I know. I'm sorry." She dipped her head as if hiding the tears he knew misted her eyes.

Damn. Even though his absence hadn't been his choice, he still felt guilty. Guilt he had no reason to feel. He hadn't abandoned her. She'd stolen those moments, those memories, from him. He had the right to be angry about that.

Just as he had the right to know about his son now. "tell me more."

"He looks so much like you. Even when he was just born – with that red little face and pointed head newborns have." She raised her chin and stared at the highway, not bothering to wipe the tears that clung to her lower lashes. "The first thing I noticed was the little cleft chin. Just like yours."

Edward ran a finger over his chin, feeling the dent he had passed to his son.

"He was born with black hair, but now its the same bronze color as you."

Something welled up inside him, something akin to pride. "So he really does look like me?"

"Spitting image. Down to the green eyes and square jaw." The hint of smile tugged at the corners of her lips once again. Her eyes softened, transforming her face into the picture of proud motherhood. "But he has my stubbornness."

"That's not a good thing." A soft smile rested on Edward's lips. "Hopefully hes not a picky eater like me, that wouldn't be a good mix."

"Hopefully, that is very true." She laughed a quiet almost silent laugh.

"What else can you tell me about him?"

She turned her gaze back to the highway, deep in thought. "He's always been a good baby. He had no trouble eating. He slept though the night when he was only two months old. And he's strong. He can pull himself into standing position already. And don't let him grab the spoon when you're feeding him, or you'll never get it back."

"So he's a strapping little guy, huh?"

"Yup. But he's cuddly, too. Sometimes when he's had enough action, he curls up in my arms and sleeps like a little angel." Her voice ached with love, with tenderness, with a thousand memories, of moments with a child Edward might never know.

He swallowed into a raw throat and concentrated on the road ahead. He had every right to be furious with Bella for keeping their son from him. But somehow he couldn't manage it. Anger eluded him. And he was left with nothing but regret. "I wish I knew him. I wish I'd been part of his life. I wish I had been there."

Bella closed her eyes. "I wish you'd been there, too. Edward."

BIRDS HAD BEGUN their early morning songs by the time Isabella and Edward climbed out of his car in the driveway of his bungalow. Except for a short stop at home to pick up clothing and toiletries, she hadn't set foot in her little house since the night Smythe had taken Luke. Just thinking of the empty bedroom – she winced. The thought of venturing back into her house, of imagining Smythe's eyes staring at her from the darkness of predawn, made her mouth go dry.

"Thanks for letting me stay here. I don't know what I'd do at home waiting for Smythe to show up with his chloroform and rope."

"You don't have to worry about that anymore."

"Why not?" After Edward's warnings and the way he'd stuck by her side to protect her, she never would have expected those words from his lips.

"The security company left a message for me at the office. They've finally installed that alarm system in your house. I'll take you home tomorrow."

Isabella nodded, trying to look grateful. And braver than she felt. A security system was nice, but is still didn't make her feel safe. Not really. What did it matter if the thing screeched to high heaven if Smythe was already in the house coming after her?

"Thanks Edward. I appreciate it."

"Smythe never would have targeted you if it wasn't for your relationship with me. The least I can do is insure your safety. I've also talked to Cullen about setting up some undercover officers to watch your house."

A chill shot up her spine. "No."

"They would be in an unmarked car and plain clothes. No one would know they're cops."

"Except Smythe. You heard him, Edward. He has sources. Maybe in the police department itself. He said he'd know if we got the police involved. I'm not taking the chance."

Although a muscle clenched along his jaw, he didn't argue. "All right. No police outside your house. But if an intruder sets off the alarm, the police will be there in minutes."

She blew a stream of air through pursed lips. The hard lines of his jaw told her there would be no use arguing this point. Truth be told, she didn't want to argue. If Smythe came after her, she wanted the police to be on there way. Then they could arrest him and find out where he'd hidden Luke.

"It's all set then. I'll take you you home tomorrow. Depending on what Smythe does, we'll decide what to do from there."

A chill skittered over her skin, but she managed to nod. She didn't want to face the empty rooms in her house – rooms Smythe had violated with his presence – but she couldn't expect Edward to baby-sit her, either. She forced her chin up a notch. "Okay tomorrow."

"You don't want to be alone, do you?"

She stared. Edward had always been able to look into her heart, to read her thoughts and feelings. Many things had changed between them, but that wasn't one of them. She sighed bowing her head, embarrassed of being caught. "No. I keep thinking of that empty house. All the empty rooms."

"And remembering Smythe's attack."

She nodded and looked away. The scent of chloroform lingered in her mind as did the the sharp edge of fear.

"Forget going home tomorrow. You can stay here with me as long as you like."

A shock traveled up Bella's spine at his offer. First the tenderness he'd shown after they'd found Connie Rasula's body, then his wish in the car, and now this.

Edward was a hard man. An unforgiving man. She knew that better than most people. She'd seen it in his work. She'd felt it firsthand. But his tenderness now, his apparent concern for her, the way his anger had dissolved into warmth for the son he'd never met and by extension for her, caught her off guard.

She looked into his face, so sincere, so serious, so like the man she'd fallen in love with. Tearing her gaze away, she focused on the front door. Predawn birdsong jangled around her, echoing the chaos that pounded inside her.

He unlocked the door and ushered her into the house. "Do you want something to eat?"

They hadn't eaten since downing a doughnut and coffee at a truck stop along the interstate. Not expecting a bonanza of nutrition. But despite the fact that she could be famished, the thought of food turned her stomach. "Not thanks, I think I'll just go to bed."

"Smart choice. The sun will be coming up in about an hour. We'd better get some sleep while we can.

Edward hadn't said the words, but she knew what he meant. Before Smythe makes his next move.

She started up the stairs toward the guest room at the end of the hall. Edward's house was large, rambling, but even though he was sleeping on a different floor and on the opposite side of the house, she could feel him in the house with her. And she knew she wasn't alone.

Unlike Luke. Unlike her baby who was who knew where...

Tears surged at the back of her eyes. Questions shuddered though her mind. Was her little boy alone? Had someone rocked him and sung songs to him? Had someone kissed his forehead and tucked him into bed the way she did every night?

Was someone taking care of him?

She gripped the wood banister and tried to steady herself.

"We'll find him, Bella. And then you won't have to worry about Luke or about Smythe attacking you. We'll find him and get him back. And then you won't be alone anymore."

She looked down where Edward stood at the bottom of the stairs, his face blurred by her tears. Maybe he could still read her thoughts, but he'd missed one thing. Her fear of being alone hadn't started the night Smythe had attacked her and kidnapped Luke. It had started over a year ago, when Edward walked out of her life.

JAMES SMYTHE leaned back in the seat of his rented sedan. The car was a piece of junk, but he couldn't risk someone spotting his Corvette. Not up in the north woods and not tonight.

He scanned the quiet, oak-lined street. Though painted different colors, the small, square houses looked as if a builder had produced them with a cookie cutter. Even the bushes rimming each house's aluminum siding looked the same. The only difference was the light glowing from the windows of the house James watched. The neighbors had the good sense to be asleep already. Not the man inside.

A police detective's hours.

Not that James didn't know all about sleepless nights. Thanks to that bastard Masen, he hadn't gotten a decent night of sleep since the day that damn jury pronounced him guilty. Never mind that the bitches he'd attacked had deserved it. Some of the whores had probably even liked it.

Well, none of that mattered anymore. He'd already started paying Masen back. And he wouldn't guit until the man was destroyed. And then, if he was feeling particularly charitable, he would put Masen our of his misery. For good.

The light dimmed and finally switched off.

It was about damn time. James glanced at his Rolex. He'd wait an half hour before making his move. A half hour would give the cop inside plenty of chance to fall into a nice, deep sleep.

A sleep he'd never wake up from.

James leaned back in the seat of his rented junker and smiled. He could have hired someone to take care of this. Just shelled out the cash and gotten the job done, like his old man liked to do. Of course the old man didn't kill anyone. Not that James knew of, anyway. He just paid people to take care of his business obligations. And to keep his family out of his hair. But the old man didn't understand one important thing. Some things were much better when you did them yourself. And, as James had discovered with the Rasula bitch, murder was one of them.

He closed his eyes, reliving the way he'd put her in her place, the way he'd punished her, the way he'd choked the life from her when he was finished. He only wished he would have realized how pleasurable murder could be years ago. If he'd known then what he knew now, he'd never let those others live. Masen never would have gotten the chance to put him in jail.

He looked down at his Rolex again and watched the last minutes of the detective's life tick away. This murder was also Masen's fault. Smythe had made it clear to the Masen's old bitch that they weren't to involve the cops. But Masen had to get cocky. He had to ignore Jame's demands. He'd probably figured that James would never find out.

Guess again...

He pulled a black ski mask over his head. Pushing open the door of his car, he steeped out onto the shadowed street. He walked quickly across the neighbor's lawn to the little green box house on the corner. Circling the property, he plunged into a thicket of bushes near the bedroom window.

Once in the shadow of the bushes, he dipped his hand into his sweatshirt pocket and withdrew the .38 he picked up from a Chicago drug dealer. He attached the little silencer and sidled up to the window. The gun fit his palm as though it belonged there.

A thrill scuttled over his nerves . A feeling of strength. There was nothing as potent as holding the power of life and death in you hands. As logn as you had the guts to use it. James had the power and now he had the guts, too. Prison had hardened him, that was for sure. And Masen and the brunette would feel that hard edge. And Detective Emmett Cullen would feel it as well, with the sharpness of a bullet to the heart.

**They would all wish they had listened to James Smythe...**


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter Seven

Edward jolted upright. He ripped the blanket from around his legs and sprang to his feet. Something had awakened him, a sound, but what? Sunlight peeked around the wood-slat blinds covering his bedroom windows. A cacophony of birdsong clattered outside overriding the lap of waves. But it wasn't the sun or the birds that had awakened him. It had been something else.

The distant chirp of a cell phone rose over the birdsong.

The phone. Bella's phone. Smythe

Heart slamming against his rib cage, Edward pulled his pants on and ran for the staircase. He took the stairs two at a time and raced down the hall. Reaching the open door of the guest bedroom, he plunged inside.

Isabella sat up in the bed. Brunette hair tousled in sleep, she stared at him, brown eyes wide. The sheet pooled around her waist exposing a silk nightie that barely covered her full breasts.

The phone rang again

As if the sound had jolted her out of a trance, Bella grabbed the cell phone out of her purse on the bedside table and punched the button. "Hello?" Her face blanched.

Edward crossed the room to her side. Damn Since the call was on the cell phone, there was no way to record it. Or trace it. The best they could do was find out the general area the phone call originated. Not that it would do them much good.

"What do you want us to do?" Bella listened carefully, gathering the sheet around her as if she were chilled. "No. You can't ask him to do that."

Edward held out his hand for the phone. "Tell the bastard if he plans to demand something of me, he's going to have to do it directly."

Meeting Edward's eyes, Bella handed him the phone with a shaking hand.

He held it to his ear. "What do you want, Smythe?"

"So the brunette is staying with you. I should have known. Did you get lucky?"

"Go to hell."

"I've already been here, Masen. And you're the one who sent me."

"What do you want?"

"I want to return a favor. We'll start with you holding a press conference. Tomorrow."

"What the hell is this about?'

"You're going to do the county a favor and resign your job. But that's not all. I want a public apology, I want you to tell whoever will listen that you were malicious in your conviction of me. And that I am innocent."

Cold rage pounded in Edward's ears. "Like hell I will."

Smythe's laugh rumbled low, like approaching thunder. "He's a cute kid, Masen. I'd hate to see anything happen to him."

Edward grasped the phone until the plastic creaked in his fist.

Bella watched him with side eyes. She looked small in the wide bed surrounded by white sheets. So unguarded and vulnerable.

He wanted to reach out to her, to comfort her, to repeat the assurances he'd given her last night. But in the light of day, he wasn't sure if his words would ring true. He wasn't sure of anything at all. Whatever reassurance he gave her would be a lie.

"And there's another thing."

"What?" Edward growled through clenched teeth.

"When I talked to the brunette, I told her I didn't want the police involved."

"The police aren't involved."

"If it looks like a cop and squawks like a cop, chances are it's to close to being a cop for my tastes."

An uneasy feeling crept up Edward's spine. "What are you getting at Smythe?"

"A little bird told me a detective has been poking his nose where it doesn't belong. Imagine that. And after I warned you against involving the cops."

Damn. He had to be referring to Cullen. How the hell did Smythe know Cullen had been helping them? "We've been looking for Lurrenette Rasula since she disappeared right after she reported being raped. But I pulled the detective off the case."

"That's not the way I heard it. Now why would you lie to me? Don't you realize this is serious? Don't you realize I have your baby – that I can kiss him if I want to? Don't you realize you're not in charge anymore?"

"Take it easy, Smythe. I'm talking to you on the phone, aren't' I? I'm listening to what you have to say."

"That's not enough. But don't worry. Since you failed to pull your cop off the case, I did it for you."

Edward's throat tightened. "What did you do?"

Smythe chuckled on the other end of the line. "First you caused Lurrenette Rasula's unfortunate demise and now a police detective's. Maybe next time you'll listen to me."

"What the hell did you do?" Edward's pulse thundered in his ears. But Smythe merely laughed again, until a click sounded on the line, harsh and final.

Edward sank to the bed and let the phone fall into his lap.

Bella scrambled across the bed to his side. She grasped his arm. "What happened? What did he say?"

Edward looked at her. His mind raced, searching for an answer he could give. An answer he could accept.

"What did he say Edward?" Isabella's eyes widened with fear. "Did he say something about Luke?"

Edward managed to shack his head. "Not Luke. Cullen."

Bella gasped. "He found out Emmett located Lurrenette Rasula?"

"Yes."

"What did he do?"

Images bombarded him. Emmett's bloody body in a ditch. Or charred beyond recognition in his car. Or lying in a Dumpster with his throat slit. Edward gritted his teeth. He'd had it with guessing games. He needed answers. He punched Emmett's cell number into the phone.

Isabella watched him, her bottom lip clamped between her teeth, her fingers digging into the flesh of his arm.

The phone ran in Edward's ear. No answer.

He disconnected the call, punched in 9-1-1 and turned to Bella. "Get dressed. Hurry."

EDWARD PACED the floor of the ICU waiting room. He and Bella had reached Emmett's house just as the paramedics had carried Emmett Cullen out of the front door on a stretcher. They'd found him in bed, shot several times through a nearby window. He'd been bleeding badly, barely clinging to life when he'd reached the hospital. The doctors had rushed him into surgery. Now there was nothing they could do but wait.

And pray.

"It's not your fault, Edward. You know that, don't you?" Isabella's voice washed over him.

He'd felt her eyes on him since the moment they'd discovered exactly what Smythe had done to Cullen. She'd been trying to read his thoughts, to gauged his emotions. She needn't bother. "You might as well save your breath. It's not going to work.

"What isn't going to work?"

"Your attempt to keep me from feeling guilty. I should have asked the police to discontinue the search for Lurrenette Rasula the moment Smythe made his demands."

"How do you know they would have done what you asked? What reason would you have given them?"

She had a point. As district attorney he worked in partnership with the police, but he wasn't exactly in a position to give orders. And he couldn't have told Cullen's superiors about Luke, not without involving the sheriff's department, a move that would have raised Smythe's ire tenfold. "I should have done something. If I had, Cullen wouldn't be fighting for his life now. I can't fool myself."

"I'm not asking you to. I just think you shouldn't be so hard on your self.

He gritted his teeth and kept up his relentless pace. If anything was worse than his own guilt echoing in his ears, it was Isabella's charity. "Listen, I appreciate you trying to support me, but I don't need it."

"I think you do. You just don't want to take it."

Maybe not. Maybe it reminded him to much of the support, love and trust he'd once thought was between them. Maybe it made him want to believe those things could be between them again. "I'll be fine. It's Emmett you should be worrying about. Not me."

Footsteps approached from down the hall. Edward spun in the direction of the sound. A young-looking man in blue scrubs stepped into the waiting room. Circles hung under the man's wide brown eyes, making them look as droopy as a bloodhound's. He leveled a serious stare on Edward. "Are you waiting to hear about Emmett Cullen?"

Edward stepped toward the doctor. "How is he? Will he live?"

Bella stepped up next to Edward. She slipped her palm in his and held on. Her skin was warm and soft, and Edward felt a surge of strength from her grip in spite of himself.

The doctor glanced from Edward to Bella and back again. "Mr. Cullen is in rough shape. He took three bullets to the chest. They seem to have missed vital organs, but he's lost a lot of blood. He made it through surgery, but I'm afraid we won't know anything more for a while."

"When can I talk to him?"

"I don't know how coherent he'll be."

"I need to talk to him. It's important." He pulled his wallet from his pocket and showed the doctor his D.A. Shield and identification.

The doctor nodded. "All right." He turned and walked down the hall in the direction he had come.

Edward followed hard on the doctor's heels. Bella fell into step beside him. They strode down the gleaming tile floor and entered the ICU.

A row of rooms set off the sliding-glass doors flanked each side of the long hall. In the center, nurses stood behind a long desk, eyes on machines monitoring patients in various stages of critical conditions. The doctor slid open one of the doors and led them inside.

Emmett Cullen was not a small man, but he looked small in the sea of white sheets. Tubes snaked from his arms, hooking him to an IV bag and various monitors. A clear oxygen tube threaded under his nose.

Edward opened and closed his fists by his sides. It seemed unreal to see Emmett Cullen this way. Since Edward had first met him, he'd always been strong, able, with a crooked smile on his lips and a wry sense of humor twinkling in his eyes. A far cry from this shell of a man barely grasping life.

Isabella stepped close to the bed and laid her hand on Cullen's, careful not to dislodge tubes. She stroked her fingers over the detective's skin. "Emmett."

Edward forced his feet to step up next to her. He bend over the still form. "Emmett? Can you hear me?"

Cullen's eyes fluttered but remained closed.

"It's Edward. I need to talk to you."

His parched lips opened slightly. "Edward."

"What happened?"

"Got shot."

"I can see that. Did you see who shot you?"

"Asleep. Guess I should have worn Kevlar pajamas."

Edward could help but smile. Here was the Cullen he knew. Mere bullets couldn't diminish that sense of humor.

Cullen opened his eyes for a second, then closed them again. "Hey, Bella."

Tears sparkled in the corners of Bella's eyes, but she didn't let them fall. "Hang in there, Emmett."

His face grimaced. "Trying."

"It was Smythe." Edward couldn't keep the snarl out of his voice when he pronounced the scum's name. "He called after he shot you. He found out you were looking for Lurrenette Rasula."

Emmett tried to nod, the attempt ending in a painful grimace. "Did you find her? Did you talk to her?"

"She was dead. Raped and murdered on the deck outside her home."

"Smythe is covering his tracks."

"Any word on Victoria Melbring?"

"Found a large deposit in her bank account."

"So Smythe may have paid her to disappear."

"Don't think so."

"Why?"

"Wherever she went, she didn't take the money with her."

Dread gripped Edward's shoulders like a could hand. After seeing firsthand the way Smythe had paid Lurrenette Rasula for helping him, he didn't hold out much hope for Victoria Melbring. That is, if the scientist had actually helped Smythe. "Did you try to trace the money? Do we know if it came from Smythe?"

"Working on it. Don't know yet." Cullen's eyes fluttered. He took a labored breath. "Even if it came from him, might not be able to prove it."

Isabella grasped Edward's arm, her touch gentle but firm. "He needs to rest."

Edward nodded. She was right. Cullen needed all the strength to hang onto life. The detective couldn't help. Not until he recovered. And by then it might be too late. "One more thing, then I'll let you sleep."

"What?"

"I'm sorry I dragged you into this."

Cullen tried to shake his head, the movement ending in a grimace. "You couldn't have kept me away." Jaw growing slack, he slipped back into a morphine sleep.

Edward stood at his bedside, listening to the beeps and whirs of monitors and watching Cullen's chest rise and fall with each breath.

Isabella released Emmett's fingers and placed her hand on Edward's arm , holding him, supporting him, the way she had since they'd watched the paramedics load the detective into the ambulance. In the waiting room he'd told her he didn't want her support. That he didn't need it. But standing here, feeling her touch, smelling her gentle scent so near, knowing he was beside him, seemed to fill a void inside him. A void he didn't know existed.

Or maybe he just hadn't wanted to acknowledge it.

She looked up at him, scanning his face. "Let's check on the results of that E.D.T.A. test. Victoria might not have helped Smythe. Her disappearance might not have anything to do with him. And if she didn't help him, someone else did."

EDWARD STARED at the analysis Isabella handed him. Leaning on the edge of her desk in the DNA lab, he felt the now familiar sensation of his heart fluttering into double time as he looked at the piece of paper.

"Insignificant amounts of E.D.T.A."

Bella moved close and peered at the report. "The blood under Connie Rasula's fingernails was fresh."

"So if the money in Victoria Melbring's account came from Smythe, it wasn't to pay her for smuggling blood from the crime lab." He was relieved at the thought. He'd always thought the criminal justice system was run by the good guys – from beat cops to lab technicians to attorneys.

At least he'd believed that until he'd discovered Charlie's dirty secrets.

It felt good to know that in this case, the source of the blood Lurrenette Rasula's fingernails – the blood had sprung James Timothy Smythe from prison – wasn't an employee of the crime lab. He only hoped that didn't mean the corruption had come from another agency. His.

"Do you think the story she told Lauren about the Smythe Pharmaceuticals job could have been just that, a story?" Bella asked.

He looked up from the paper, tension tightening the knot in his gut once again. "I don't like coincidences. Not where Smythe is concerned."

Bella nodded. "Victoria could have been involved with helping Smythe some other way. Some way that didn't entail smuggling blood from the crime lab."

"Sounds possible. Any ideas?"

"She might have told him how to fake the rape."

"I'm listening."

"She used to volunteer for evidence collection."

"Evidence collection? I thought she was a chemist."

"Some of the people who work here volunteer to be on call to process crime scenes for jurisdictions that don't have their own crime scene units. I never used to because I always wanted to spend more time with you."

He remembered those times. Times they'd spent working together on remodeling his house until late into the night. Times she'd appear at his office after he'd had a hard day in court and cajole him into enjoying dinner with her instead of just grabbing a sandwich from a vending machine. Times they spent all evening and night together in bed with no thoughts of anything but each other.

Edward shifted uncomfortably. "So she could tell Smythe exactly how to stage a crime scene?"

"Or maybe she staged it herself."

"I doubt it. There were a number of mistakes in the scene itself. Mistakes an experienced crime scene technician probably wouldn't make."

Curiosity sparked in Bella's eyes. "What kind of mistakes?"

"There was no evidence that Ms. Rasula was chloroformed, for one thing. Even though she insisted she was, her blood test came back clean. All of Smythe's assaults were blitz-style attacks. He sneaked up on his victim and covered her mouth and nose with chloroform."

"That is how he attacked me."

Anger surged through Edward's bloodstream at the thought of Smythe touching Bella. He clenched his fingers tightly on the E.D.T.A. report and tried to stifle his rage. "And that's how Lurrenette Rasula should have been attacked if the same perpetrator committed all the rapes. We should have seen evidence to back up her claims."

Isabella nodded. "I guess he didn't pay her enough."

"Or the person who set up the scene didn't know the importance of making the attack appear to be like the others."

"Which leaves Victoria out."

"So it seems."

"She still could have told him how to do it. Or at least she could have given him the idea. That would be enough reason to offer her the job at Smythe Pharmaceuticals."

"And enough reason to make her disappear. Unfortunately the only way we can learn what her role was is to ask her." Silence hung between Edward and Bella like a pall. As much as he didn't want to admit it, the chances of Victoria Melbring being alive were slim and growing slimmer.

"So we're back to his prison visitors. I was hopping not to have to face another scandal in the district attorney's office." The reference was out of his mouth before he could censor it. At one time he'd used allusions to her father to lash out at her, to pay her back for the choice she'd made – a choice that broke his hear. But now he wanted to bite back the words. Bella had suffered enough. The last thing he wanted was to cause her more pain. He ran his fingers down her arm in an attempt to apologize for his blunder.

Bella set her chin and met his eyes, as if determined not to let him see her flinch. "I can't believe Aro Cohen would do something like that, no matter how burned out and cynical he's become."

Edward had to force himself not to nod in agreement. He couldn't believe it either. But then, he hadn't been able to believe a lot of things over the years, and all of those things had come back to bite him. "Aro was the only one with access to Smythe in prison. He's the most likely candidate."

"What about Smythe's defense attorney?"

Peter Runyon. Edward nodded slowly. He'd love to believe Runyon was Smythe's lackey. It would be much easier than coming to terms with the alternative; that his office was as corrupt as Charlie Swan's. And that once again reality had fallen far short from his perception.

Pushing himself up from the edge of Isabella's desk, he handed the test results back to her. "Maybe it's time we have a chat with Runyon.

ISABELLA HELD ON to her visor with one hand and the dash of the golf cart with the other. Edward sat beside her, piloting the cart through the twists and turns of the asphalt path. They'd tried to contact Runyon at his office downtown with no luck. He wasn't in. And wasn't in court. That left only one place he could be. At a golf course.

It hadn't taken long to track him to Chambers Bay Golf Course south east of Seattle. The course was scenic, prestigious and the tee fee were high. The logical place for a man like Runyon.

Bella tried to shuck the tremor of nerves in her stomach. She did know Runyon well. Except for being cross-examined by him in court, she'd only seen him at a handful of her father's political functions. But what she knew of him hadn't endeared him to her. HE struck her as a pompous man. One who liked to wear his wealth on his sleeve to make himself feel more important.

She spotted him right away on the seventh-hole green. The bright sunlight glared off his rather large sunglasses as he lined up to putt. She pointed in his direction.

Edward swung the cart off the path. They bumped over the rough. Finally he came to a stop near the green and turned off the ignition. He turned to Bella. "Well, here goes. Just follow my lead."

She nodded and climbed from the vehicle. She had no problem following Edward's lead. Especially where Runyon was concerned. The man reminded her of a bulldog – so homely he was cute until he sank those crooked teeth into your flesh. She'd felt those teeth more than once in the witness box while testifying about DNA evidence in a case. She didn't relish the thought of feeling his bite today. Not when she needed so much to find something, anything that would lead to Luke. "I'm right behind you."

Edward strode across the grass and onto the green. His strides were even, his head held high. The picture of strength and confidence. A warrior who wouldn't be denied his victory.

Spirits buoying, she walked by his side. Runyon wouldn't know what hit him until it was too late.

With one smooth swing, Runyon sank his ball. When he stooped to scoop it out of the hole, his dark gaze landed on Edward and Isabella. "Well, what do we have here? I would think the district office and the crime lab would be too busy saving the world from big, bad criminals for the two of you to be out on the fairway this afternoon."

Edward shot him an all-business stare. "I need to have a word with you."

Runyon glanced at his golf partners. "Why don't you go on to the next hole? You could use the head start. I'm tired of standing around waiting."

With a bit of grumbling and a few insults tossed back at Runyon, the men gathered their clubs and sauntered on.

Runyon turned his hawk-like eyes on Edward. "So, what is this about, Masen? I sure hope it's not something that could have waited until I was back in the office tomorrow."

"When was the last time you talked to James Smythe?"

"Ah. The Smythe pardon. I should have known that's what you'd want to talk about. I told you when we tried that case that you wouldn't win in the end. You really should have listened to me, you know."

Edward stared at him with a poker face. "What was the last time, Runyon."

"I don't know. Ask my secretary. She does the billing."

"Did you know he's suspected of committing a rape and murder up by Silver Lake?"

"No. But I'm sure if the cops up there had any solid evidence against James, I'd be up north right now seeing that his rights aren't trampled instead of enjoying his lovely June day on the course."

"Just wait." Isabella threatened. "The crime lab hasn't had time to complete the DNA testing."

Runyon shifted his gaze to her. "Would that be the same DNA testing that proved there is another man out there with identical DNA committing rapes while my client was behind bars?"

Isabella bit her tongue and glanced at Edward. She should have done as he said and let him do the talking. But something inside her wouldn't allow her to stand quietly by while her son – her life – was on the line. "That blood was planted, and you know it. My question is, how did you get Smythe's blood out of the prison without anyone noticing?"

Runyon quirked a brow and turned to Edward. "She has quite imagination for a scientist."

Edward gave him a glare that would melt a more sensitive man. Or one with half a conscience. "I want to hear your answer."

"My answer? I've never taken anything from James Smythe except my very reasonable and legitimate fees. And I never gave him anything except the best legal advice money could buy."

"Did you hire a private investigator for him?"

"What does it matter if I did? I hire private investigators to work on several of my clients' cases."

"And you act as a go-between?"

"Sometimes. What are you trying to get at here, Masen?"

"I want to know how James Timothy Smythe's blood found its way outside those prison walls."

"Have you ever considered that you may have the answer to that question already? That maybe James has a DNA double out there?"

"That's ridiculous and you know it." Bella couldn't keep her mouth shut one second longer. "DNA is unique, just as people are unique. The only way Smythe could have a double is if he had an identical twin. And we all know he has no identical twin."

A slow grin spread across Runyon's face. "Do we?"

Doubt wound through Isabella's resolve like a grapevine through tree branches. She glanced at Edward.

A frown furrowed his brow. "He has no identical twin. I turned his life upside down and inside out preparing for his trial. I would have found a twin."

"To the best of my recollection," Runyon drawled, "James's parents refused to answer your questions."

Bella remembered Edward's frustration in the months leading up to the trial. Not only had Smythe's parents refused to talk but everyone within the influence of Smythe money kept their mouths shut, as well. In the end, pure police work and scientific analysis had convicted the rapist.

Runyon heft his golf bag to his shoulder, "Well, none of that matters anyway. I doubt they'll be talking to you now, either. And I have to get to my golf game. Some of those boys I'm playing with are known for there cheating. I don't want to lose the hundred I have riding on this game because of a kicked ball."

"No so fast." Edward held up his hand. "I have more questions for you."

"None that I'm going to answer. Haven't you heard of attorney-client privilege, counselor? I'm ethically bound to keep my client's confidences. And that includes the discussions I might or might not have had with a private investigator."

Bella dug her fingernails into the palms of her hands. "You can't just walk away from this." Isabella's voice rang shrill in her ears. Desperate. "Smythe murdered a woman."

Runyon's eyebrows jutted toward his hairline. "And I'll take that charge seriously only if you can show me evidence, Miz Swan. Now I have eleven more holes to play. If you want to waste my time further, I trust you'll make an appointment at my office."

Isabella stared at his retreating back and tried to quell the tears of frustration surging for release. "Is it true, what he said? Can he stonewall us like that, no matter what he knows? Can he refuse to eve give us the private investigators name?"

"He can if he's not part of a conspiracy."

"In other words..."

"If he didn't do anything illegal to help Smythe break the law, he doesn't have to say a word. In fact, he'd probably be disbarred if he did."

"But if he staged a false rape to get Smythe pardoned?"

"He would be part of a conspiracy, and attorney-client privilege wouldn't apply."

Her heart soared with hope for a second, the crashed somewhere in the vicinity of her toes. "But unless he talks, we have no way to prove he's part of anything Smythe has done."

Edward turned toward the golf cart. "Correct. And that only leaves one thing for me to do."

"Whats that?"

"It's time I have a talk with the governor. He won't want to hear about my resignation on the news tomorrow."


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter Eight

The door swung open and Edward strode into his office. He didn't say a word, merely offering Isabella a solemn glance before shrugging out of his suit jacket and sinking into his desk chair. Leaning back, he ran a hand over his face.

Bella eyed him from the corner of the room. While he'd met with the governor, she'd waited in his office, since it was one of the few places they both agreed she'd be safe from Smythe. And though thoughts of her father's time between these four walls hovered in the back of her mind like a ghost, the problems of the past seemed insignificant compared to her worry for Luke. And for Edward.

She was probably one of the few people on earth who knew exactly how much Edward's career meant to him. How he'd come from nothing, earning scholarships to get him through college and law school. How he'd worked night and day trying every case he could get his hands on, from the smallest misdemeanor until he worked his way up to felonies. And finally he'd earned his way to an appointment from the governor and hopefully to election by the people in November. He'd put his heart and soul into his job. And looking at his face now, so pale and drawn, she knew exactly how much it cost him to give it up.

Standing, she set the paperback she'd been staring at on the chair seat, crossed the room and stopped next to his desk. "How are you holding up?"

He didn't glance at her, but stared straight ahead, eyes weary. "I'm fine."

"Riigghhht. You're downright peachy. Just like me." She hadn't meant to let the sarcasm slip out, but she couldn't help it. It was so like Edward to withdraw into himself when facing a personal crisis. She'd seen him do it more than once. But he wasn't going to do it this time.

She stepped behind his chair and rested her hands on his shoulders as she'd done so many times before. His muscles were tense, bunching like coiled springs under his crisp white dress shirt. She dug her fingertips into the knots and began to knead.

He'd helped her so much these past days. If it wasn't for him – his shoulder to cry on, his strength to lean on, his determination to find Luke – She didn't know how she would have survived. And now it was her turn to help him. And though she wasn't sure how to accomplish it, she'd give it her best shot. And the only place she knew to start was to get him talking. "How's the governor holding up?"

"He's not so fine."

"Not happy, eh?"

"To say the least."

"What reason did you give him for resigning?"

"The ever-vague 'personal reasons'." The pain aching in his voice cut into her like a sharp blade.

She worried her bottom lip between her teeth. "There must be a way around this. Isn't there some way you can resign temporarily?"

He shook his head. "I don't know how Smythe found out about Cullen's involvement in the case, but we can't take the chance that he'd sniff out a false resignation. There's too much at stake."

He was right. There was too much at stake. Far to much. And that left Edward only one option. He had to do as Smythe said.

Unless they could find Luke before the press conference tomorrow.

Bella continued to massage the knots out of his shoulder muscles, her mind racing with possibilities. "While you were with the governor, I was thinking of some things Runyon said."

Edward glanced over his shoulder and raised his eyebrows. "And?"

"What if Smythe's parents arranged for Lurrenette Rasula to fake the rape? The Smythes certainly have enough money to make it worth Runyon's while to smuggle James's blood out of prison."

"I suppose it's possible. But the question is why?"

"What do you meant? Isn't if obvious? They're his parents."

"That's not enough reason. Not for people like the Smythes. I doubt any one of them would risk one hair to save a family member. That family makes my background look positively wholesome."

Bella's hands stilled. Edward had mentioned before that he'd had a troubled family life growling up. But every time she'd pressed him to tell her more, he'd clammed up, as if unwilling to open himself that much. Or unwilling to relieve the memories.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"Seems James's father beat his mother and his mother passed the abuse on to James. Among other lovely things."

"I didn't mean Smythe's family, I meant yours."

Edward froze. He didn't look at her, but she didn't need to see his face to know how his jaw clenched and his eyes narrowed guardedly behind his wire-rimmed glasses. Tension pulsed off him in waves.

"Some things are better left alone."

"And some things are better if you talk about them."

He shook his head, the office light sparking off his bronze hair. "This isn't one of them. Trust me. We both have enough pain to deal with in present. We don't need to go looking for more." He stood from his chair, effectively shucking her hands off his shoulders. But instead of pacing to the far corner of the room, he planted his feet, as if something was keeping him rooted to the spot.

She searched for words to say – words that would convince him to open himself to her. But none formed on her lips. She raised a hand, letting it hover near his arm. She wanted to touch him again, to reach him, but she didn't know how.

She'd never known.

She let her hands fall to her sides. "You don't think talking to Smythe's parents would do any good?"

"I didn't say that. Right now I think we need to explore every possibility. We have no other choice." He stepped away from the desk, away from her.

Standing alone, she placed her hands on the back of the chair. She'd been foolish to think she could help him. Or that he would accept her help. He was the same man, after all. The man who'd survived who-knew-what horrors in childhood. The man who'd leveraged his way into district attorney's office with nothing but hard work and stubbornness.

The man who'd walked away from her the moment she'd failed to live up to his impossible standards.

Nothing she could do would make him change. Not a year and half ago and not now. The only thing she could do was worry about herself. Because she faced more dangers than James Smythe posed. She'd given Edward her heart once, and it had almost destroyed her. She couldn't let herself fall into that trap again...

EDWARD SLAMMED the car door and looked up at the looming Gothic Tudor-style mansion that the Smythe family called home when they were in Seattle. Sheer stone walls stretched in long wings on either side of the entry, gray as weathered bone. Sharp-angled roofs stabbed into the cloud-darkened sky like spears raised in battle. Windows stared down at Isabella and him like cold eyes.

He glanced at the half dozen cars parked in the circle drive then at Bella as she climbed out of the car. "Judging from the cars, someone's entertaining."

Edward followed his gaze. "Richard or Patrice?"

"Must be Patrice. I had Jessica place a call to Smythe Pharmaceuticals earlier today. Richard's out of town."

"Is that good or bad?"

He shrugged and circled the car. "Doesn't matter. Both are equally hard to deal with."

Bella nodded and looked up at the house. She was walking into a lion's den and she didn't even seem to know it. Or maybe she did. He doubted it would make a difference. She would clearly do anything to get Luke back, whatever the cost. He'd bet she was a wonderful mother, so loving and giving. Always concerned about others' needs.

Just as she'd been concerned about him when he'd returned from his trip to talk to the governor. He pressed his lips into a grim line. He'd never told anyone about his family, but he'd come close to spilling it all to Bella.

Thank God she let the subject drop. Reliving the past didn't do any good. It would only have served to remind him of his vulnerability during a time when he especially couldn't afford to be vulnerable. Or weak. He focused his attention on the mansion. "Are you ready?"

Bella shivered and started to climb the stairs leading to the house. She ripped her attention from the windows and met his gaze. "Just nervous, that's all. I keep thinking James could be up there, looking down on us."

"If he is, he has more to be nervous about than you. I'd love to get my hands around that bastard's neck. Unfortunately the best we can hope fore is to find out if his parents helped him get out of prison. Or have any idea who did."

"Or if they're helping him hide Luke."

"Knowing Patrice Smythe, I don't see that happening. But that doesn't mean she won't be able to clue us in about who might be helping him. The trick will be getting her to talk."

Isabella gave an eager nod and quickened her pace up the staircase.

Edward lengthened his stride to keep up. "Don't get your hopes up. Like Runyon pointed out, they both refused to talk to me two years ago. There's no reason to assume Patrice will talk to me now."

"She has to. I can't bear to think of Luke spending another night away from me." Setting her chin, Bella focused on the grand entry. "We've got to find him."

"And we will. I promise you. We will." Reaching the door. Edward pressed the doorbell. Chimes echoed through the stone. Before the ringing stopped, the door opened and a small woman who resembled a delicate bird stood in front of them. "May I help you?"

Edward remembered the petite housekeeper from the months up to Smythe's trial. She'd always met him at the door. And she always turned him away with instructions to talk to the Smythes' attorney. He gritted his teeth. Only the filthy rich could duck the law enforcement. But this time he wouldn't take no for an answer. If she tried that tack again, he'd bull his way through the door and force them to talk with his bare hands, if need be.

"Is Mr. Or Mrs. Smythe in?' Edward asked.

The woman nodded. "Mrs. Smythe is in, but she's busy with guests."

"Tell her Edward Masen, is here to see her. Tell her I need to talk to her about her son."

"I'm sorry. She really is busy."

"Tell her I'm here to apologize."

He could feel Bella's eyebrows raise at the obvious lie. The housekeeper didn't seem to notice. She merely nodded and pulled the door open wide."

They stepped into the grand entry hall. Edward looked around the foyer, taking in the way the crystal chandelier threw droplets of light on the oak floors and art covered walls. Stairs swept up to the level above with the drama of Southern plantation house. Amazing how some people lived. Coming from his poor background, he might be envious if he didn't know the seedy side of the Smythes' seemingly perfect lives.

The housekeeper gestured to an arched doorway. "Have a seat in the living room. I'll tell Mrs. Smythe your here."

They stepped into a living room furnished in cream and gold and lowered themselves into plush chairs. Edward hated sitting sill like this, as if waiting for something bad to happen. He itched to pace the length of the room. Instead he followed Bella's example and took in the scenery, facing out one of the plate-glass windows facing the lake.

"It's about time you apologized, Mr. Masen. After all you did to my son, it's surprising you have the guts to show your face around here."

Edward turned in his chair and looked into the face of Patrice Smythe. Whereas the housekeeper always reminded him of a delicate sparrow, Mrs. Smythe resembled a bird of prey. Sharp eyes riveted on Edward. Rough cheeks hollowed below high cheekbones. And her lips pressed into a severe line, she hadn't changed in the past two years. If anything she'd grown harder.

Edward tried to assume an appropriately chagrined expression. "I just need to clear a couple things up first, if you don't mind."

"I have guests, so make it quick."

"When was the last time you saw your son, Mrs. Smythe?"

"The afternoon he was pardoned. I planned a party for him. He stayed five minutes. Why?"

"Did you visit him while he was in prison?"

"Me? Go to that awful place?"

"How did you communicate with him?"

"Through his attorney, Mr. Runyon."

"And did you pay Mr. Runyon to act as a go-between?"

She narrowed her mascara-rimmed eyes. "This doesn't sound like an apology."

Anger churned in his gut. He couldn't hold it in any longer. Just the thought of apologizing for taking James Timothy Smythe off the streets made him want to hit something. "Your son was guilty of victimizing six women. I have nothing to apologize for."

"You've read the papers, haven't you, Mr. Masen? My son didn't rape those women. Someone else is out there. Why don't you focus on finding him instead of on embarrassing our family? Now if you aren't going to apologize, I have nothing more to say to you. Mary Ann will show you out."

Bella jumped up from her chair before Patrice had the chance to turn around. "Wait." Chin raised in determination, she looked as if she was ready to take on an army to get to the truth.

Patrice looked down on her as if she was a dirty stain in the carpet.

"We didn't come to talk about your son's past, Mrs. Smythe."

Patrice arched plucked eyebrows." Why did you come?"

"Do you know if your son has a baby?"

"A baby? James?"

"Yes."

"And why are you asking me?"

"You're his mother. I just thought–"

"If he has baby, he hasn't told me. Not that he would share that kind of news with his mother. Who's the mother of this baby?"

"Me."

He gaze darkened. "Are you accusing James of something? Or are you here to see what kind of payoff you can get?"

Just the suggestion that James was Luke's father made Edward want to set the record straight. He caught Bella's pleading glance and shut his mouth. He'd struck out when it came to handing Patrice Smythe. The only option left was to let Bella take a shot. He clenched his hands and said nothing.

Bella looked back at Patrice and splayed her hands, palms up, in front of her. "I just want my baby back. I want to know he's okay."

"That's a likely story."

"It's true, Mrs. Smythe. Please."

"Well, if it's money you want, you've come to the wrong person. You'd be better off going to his father. God knows he's paid off enough of his own whores over the years. I suppose he'll write you a nice check, too." She looked aback at Edward. "I don't know what you're up to, bringing her here, but I'm not going to stand for it. I want you both out of my house. Now." She whirled around and strode away.

Bella's shoulders slumped.

Edward stood from his chair. He'd warned her not to get her hopes up, but she obviously had. "Patrice Smythe was a long shot. We did our best."

She shook her head. "I hoped that as a woman and mother, she'd understand. I never dreamed she'd think I was trying to extort money by claiming Luke was James's son."

"You tried."

"I can imagine how it made you feel. I'm sorry."

He waved aside her concern. He couldn't accept anymore concern from her today. Each tender word from her mouth made him want to gather her in his arms, to claim her lips, to never let go.

"Please follow me." The meek voice of the bird-like housekeeper penetrated his thoughts.

Holding out a hand, he helped Bella from her chair and they followed the woman across the plush carpet into the marble-floored foyer.

The housekeeper reached the door and opened it, standing to the side to let them exit. As Bella stepped past her, the woman whispered, "Mrs. Smythe wouldn't know about any baby. James doesn't confide in his mother."

Adrenaline jolted through Edward's blood stream.

Bella grabbed the woman's arm. "Who does he confide in? You?"

She shook her birdlike head. "Not me. His sister."

Edward stepped up close behind. "His sister? He doesn't have a sister."

"Half sister. The daughter of one of those whores Mrs. Smythe likes to talk about." An edge of bitterness crept into the woman's voice. She glanced down the hall as if to be sure her employers hadn't crept back within hearing range. The long hall was empty and the women's voice drifted from one of the rooms.

Edward's mind raced. He scrutinized the woman's face. "How do you know all this?'

"Because my mother is that whore. Though my sister and I have different fathers."

"Edward searched her face. "Who is your half sister?"

The woman's forehead furrowed.

**"Her name is Jessica Stanley."**


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter Nine

Edward grabbed Bella's arm and led her from the Smythe mansion. The clouds had opened up while they were inside and rain pelted his face. The echo of the door slamming behind them clashed with the rumble of thunder.

"Jessica Stanley?" Bella said in a tone of disbelief. "As in the same Jessica Stanley who works in your office."

"One and the same." Edward's voice came out in a monotone that belied the turmoil inside him. He looked over his shoulder at the Smythe house. A silhouette darkened an upstairs window. Mrs Smythe? The housekeeper? Or James himself? "Let's get out of here."

Bella nodded and scampered for the car.

Once inside his Volvo and on the road, Edward let the shock of the housekeeper's statement filter through his mind.

"I just can't believe it," Bella said, voicing his thoughts. "Jessica has been looking at me strangely lately, but I assumed it was because of what my father did. It never occurred to me that she might have something to do with Smythe."

Edward's thoughts had been following the same lines. Should he have seen a resemblance? Should he have noticed if she seemed more interested in James's case than others that coursed through the office? "If I remember correctly, Jessica was hired right after I started work on Smythe's rape case."

"She took the job to influence the case."

"Or to feed Runyon any information she could get her hands on."

"It didn't seem to help Smythe's case. You convicted him anyway."

"Yeah. But maybe it helped her come up with a plan for getting him out."

"Do you think she's the one who helped Smythe smuggle his blood out of prison?"

"It's possible."

"But she would have been on the prison sign-in sheet if she'd gone to see him. Of course she could have had help. Runyon?"

"Or Aro Cohen." He hated to admit that one of the A.D.A.s he'd worked with for years was the better suspect, but until a few minutes ago he'd no idea the office receptionist had a connection to James Smythe. He couldn't afford to hide his head in the sand any longer. "They work in the same office. They are in contact every day."

Bella's face fell. "If Jessica visited Runyon's office, it might make people suspicious, but no one would think twice if she popped in to talk with Cohen."

"Exactly."

"So what do we do next?"

"We have a chat with Jessica and find out if the Smythe's housekeeper is telling the truth."

"And if the housekeeper is right... if Jessica is James Smythe's sister and the one person he confides in–" She stopped as if afraid to go on."

Edward finished for her. "Then maybe she's also the one person he would trust to take care of a kidnapped baby."

ISABELLA FOLLOWED EDWARD up the combination of stairs and patios snaking around the outside of the condominium his office employment records had shown was Jessica Stanley's address. By the time they'd finished their meeting with Patrice Smythe, Jessica had long since left the office. It was just as well. This way they would get a chance to take a peek inside her home. Babies didn't travel light. If Jessica was housing a baby in the conservative condo, there would be telltale signs. Bottles and baby food jars littering the kitchen counters. The scent of diapers. Or even a coo or a cry. If Luke was here, they would know it.

Pressure bore down on Isabella's lungs like the damp rain, making it hard to breathe. Every nerve pressed her to race up those stairs, break open the door and gather her baby into her arms. Biting her lower lip, she forced herself to take the condo stairs at an even pace.

When they reached the front door, Edward turned to look at her. "We need to play this cool. Just follow my lead."

Bella nodded and took what she hoped would be a calming breath. Edward knew Jessica better than she did. She was glad he was there with her, taking the lead. Left to her own devices, she would probably just push her way inside and ransack the place until she found her son. She held her breath as Edward pressed the buzzer.

Footsteps sounded from inside the house. A dead bolt slid back. The door inched open and one of Jessica's brown eyes peered out through the crack. "Mr. Masen?"

"I need a word with you, Jessica. It's important."

The door swung open. When Jessica spotted Bella In the shadows behind Edward, her eyes narrowed.

Edward stepped forward. "May we come in?"

Jessica looked from Bella to Edward. "I'm in the middle of making dinner. Can't this wait until tomorrow?"

"I'm sorry but it can't. I have to talk to you tonight. You see, I think there's a problem in the office."

Jessica's eyes rounded, but instead of conveying surprise she looked as if she was bracing herself for an accusation. "Problem? What kind of problem?"

"Could we talk about it inside? It's rather wet out here, and the news isn't something I want to share with your neighbors."

"All right." Jessica closed the door and unfastened the security chain. When she opened the door, her face was a perfectly composed mask. "Come in."

Edward and Bella stepped inside, and Jessica shepherded them into a small formal living room off the foyer. "Please sit down."

Bella perched on the edge of a chair, but Edward remained standing.

So did Jessica. "Now what is the problem, Edward? And how can I help?"

Bella's ears hummed. Jessica could help by giving Luke back. She could help by helping them put her brother back in prison where he belonged. And where – if she had helped her brother – she belonged, as well. Isabella clenched her hands in her lap. She had to keep her cool if she was going to find Luke. She combed the room casually with her gaze, but not baby paraphernalia caught her notice.

Edward too, looked around the room then focused on Jessica. "I think Aro Cohen is taking bribes."

"Aro Cohen?" Jessica echoed, but she didn't seem surprised. "What makes you think that?"

"It's in relation to the James Smythe case."

Other than a blink, Jessica showed no outward signs that the name meant anything special to her. "He's the rapist the governor pardoned, right?"

"Right. We think Cohen helped Smythe smuggle blood out of prison, then planted it under the fingernails of a staged rape victim."

Jessica's gaze shifted to Bella. "Is that why she's here? Because she performed DNA tests on that blood?"

"Yes. Isabella has been helping me with the scientific aspects of the case. We also believe Victoria Melbring, a forensic chemist at the State Crime Lab, may be involved."

Jessica nodded, seemingly buying his explanation. "So what do you want me to do? I don't know anything about what Cohen does in his free time." If Bella wasn't mistaken, the edge of defensiveness was creeping into Jessica's voice. She glanced at Edward. IF he caught it, he gave no sign.

"I want you to help me set Cohen up. If he's involved in helping Smythe, I want evidence."

"Why me?"

"Because I don't know how far the corruption reaches in the office. I don't know if I can trust any of the other assistant district attorneys."

Isabella's glanced out the door and into the foyer. She couldn't sit in this living room another second. She had to find away to look around the rest of the house. "Excuse me, Jessica. But could I use your rest room?"

Jessica's face drained of color. "I'd rater you didn't. I've been having problems with the plumbing lately."

"Oh, I just need to blow my knows. I won't tax the plumbing."

Jessica's glance flew around the room as if she was searching for a way out. "I'll go get you a box of tissues."

Bella sprang to her feet. "Don't bother. You're busy with Edward. I can find the bathroom. I'll only be a minute." She strode for the living room door.

Jessica stepped in front of her. "Really, it's no bother. Why don't you take a seat. I'll be–''

Edward stepped forward. Reaching out, he grasped Jessica's arm. "I need you to approach Cohen with a false deal, Jessica. An undercover detective will pose as a defense lawyer looking to broker a deal for his incarcerated client."

Seeing her chance, Bella ducked out the archway and half ran down the hall. She ducked into the kitchen and attached family room first. Grey counter tops rimmed the perimeter of the small room, clean and neat. No signs of bottles or baby food. Crossing the floor, Bella wrenched open the refrigerator door. Wine, cheese, and plain yogurt stared back at her. No formula. No baby food. Her heart fell.

Stepping around the long counter that served as a breakfast bar, she searched the family room with her gaze. A few magazines and a smattering of romance novels cluttered the coffee table. But no baby swing or pacifier or any sign Jessica had even thought of housing a baby caught Isabella's eye.

She darted back into the hall way. There were only three more rooms to search. The bathroom and two closed doors. Her heart hammered in her ears, all but drowning out the sound of Edward's voice, outlining detail after detail of the false plot to get Aro to incriminate himself.

She scurried down the hall to the first closed door. Opening it, she slipped inside. Rain approaching night made the room dim. But Bella could make out a queen-size bed with a floral spread and an assortment of women's clothes draped over one end, as if someone had discarded them while searching for something to wear. Jessica's bed room no doubt. After a quick perusal, Isabella ducked back into the hallway. A quick glance in the bathroom yielded nothing.

Jessica's protests rose from the living room.

Isabella was running out of time. Sooner or later Edward would run out of false plans, and Jessica would come looking for her. She had to get a peek inside that last closed door before that happened.

She scampered down the hallway, closed her hand over the cool brass knob and turned. The knob held. It was locked. Elation shuddered though Bella, chased by panic. Jessica was hiding something, all right. And it was behind this locked door. Bella had to figure out a way to get inside. She wouldn't leave – she couldn't leave – until she got a look inside that room. And a simple privacy lock wasn't about to keep her out.

Bending, she peered at the knob. Sure enough, in the center was a small hole. Just like the knobs in her own house.

She crept back down the hall to the kitchen. She crossed to the desk and glanced through the unpaid bills and correspondence until she found a small container of paper clips. She'd locked herself out of the bedrooms in her house once before. And that's when she discovered the true value of paper clips.

Grabbing a clip from the box, she bent the curved wire straight and returned to the locked door. Hands shaking, she slipped the wire into the hole and poked for the mechanism. Silence came from the living room. Either Edward had run out of things to say, or he was wrestling Jessica to the ground to keep her from racing down the hall.

Isabella's heart beat in her ears like heavy rain on a tin roof. She poked and prodded with the wire. Finally it slipped into the mechanism. She gave the knob a turn and pushed inside the room.

With draperies drawn, this room was even darker than Jessica's bedroom. Isabella searched the darkness, willing her eyes to adjust. A bed sulked in one corner, along with a neat pile of large boxes. Or was that a crib? A crib holding her sweet baby? She held her breath and reached for the light switch.

A hand closed around her wrist and another around her throat.

**"Hello, Isabella. Did you miss me?"**


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter Ten

A strangled scream split the air.

Isabella's

Edward's heart slammed against his rib cage. Releasing Jessica's arm, he raced for the hall. There could only be one reason for that scream, and it had nothing to do with Bella finding our son.

Smythe was here...

Reaching under his jacket, he withdrew the .38 nestled in his shoulder holster. He hadn't told Isabella he had a gun. He knew how she felt about them, and he didn't want to worry her. But he was glad he had it now.

A door on the far end of the hall stood ajar. Edward raced toward it. Gun poised, he kicked the door wide and swept the room with his gaze.

Bella lay on the floor amid some boxes, holding her hand to her head. A window gaped open behind her. She raised her brown eyes to Edward. Bright blood mingled with the brown of her hair and stained her fingers. "He's gone. Though the window."

Making another swept of the room to be sure, Edward glanced out the open window. A manicured lawn stretched only a few feet below. An easy getaway. Somewhere in the distance, a car engine purred to life. Edward fell to his knees beside Bella.

"Find Smythe. He's getting away." She tried to push him to his feet, her hands leaving bloodstains on his jacket and shirt. "I'm okay. Really."

"You're not okay, and Smythes long gone."

Bella sagged against him. Blood trickled down her forearm in a tiny rivulet. Blood and strands of her hair clung to the sharp edge of a glass-and-steel coffee table nearby.

Jessica's shadow stretched into the room in the light streaming from the doorway. "What happened? What was she doing in here? This is just a storeroom. I thought she said she had to use the bathroom."

"You know damn well what happened. Your brother slammed Isabella's head into that table."

"My brother?"

"We know James Smythe is your half brother, Jessica."

The woman's face blanched even whiter than before.

Edward didn't bother explaining. "Call 9-1-1. Tell them to send an ambulance and the police. And make it fast."

Bella gripped his arm. "No police. No ambulance. I'm fine!"

"You're hurt. You're bleeding all over."

"It's nothing. Cuts to the head always bleed a lot. We can't call the police. He said – "

"You need medical attention. Smythe be damned."

"You can drive me to the hospital."

Her brown eyes seemed unnaturally dark, even in the dim light of the room. Probably a concussion. He had to get her to a hospital. And he had to get her there now. "Fine. Put your arms around my neck. Can you do that?"

She did as he said.

He lifted her to her feet, "Can you stand?"

She did, leaning against him for balance. Wadding up a wash cloth he found in an open storage box, he pressed it to the cut on her scalp. "Hold this tight." Looping his free arm around her, he helped her walk from the room, still holding his gun in the other hand. Jessica didn't seem dangerous, but he wasn't taking any chances.

Jessica moved out of the way and let them pass. "She has no right snooping in my house. And she had no right scaring James that way. He's a free man, like any other free man. He has the right to visit my house without being harassed.

Edward shot her a look he hoped drilled into her misguided soul. "As far as I'm concerned, James Smythe doesn't have the right to take another breath. Tell him that for me, would you?"

EDWARD SMOOTHED CLEAN SHEETS on the bed in his guest bedroom and listened to sounds filtering though the door of adjoining bathroom. The doctor at the hospital emergency room had stitched up the cut in Bella's scalp and had diagnosed her with a slight concussion. Edward would have felt better if she'd stayed in the hospital overnight for observation, but she wouldn't hear of it. Finally he'd agreed to take her home to his guest room. He'd bed down in the empty adjacent room The master bedroom on the first level was too far away after what she'd just gone through. At least this way he could stay close enough to keep an eye on her, yet not be forced to sleep in the same room. He didn't need to tempt himself. Being one bedroom away was bad enough.

He fluffed the pillows and threw them into place at the head of the bed.

A pulsing whir filtered through the adjoining bathroom. Isabella's breast pump. He'd heard it before in the time she'd been staying with him and each time he'd had trouble shutting the images from his mind. Images of the device fitting over her breast, pulling at her nipples. The way he used to with his mouth. The way he wanted to again.

He grasped the television remote. He couldn't stand here and let himself remember. The good memories would only tempt him. And the bad memories hurt too damn much. He switched on the set.

The ten O'clock news snapped on the screen. Edward stared at the blonde anchorwoman and forced him self to listen to her words and keep his mind off the naked girl in the bathroom next to his room of staying.

A losing battle.

"Sources in the governor's office have confirmed that interim District Attorney Edward Masen will resign from his position."

Edward's heart stilled, then launched into double time. "Damn."

"We were unable to reach Mr. Masen for comment, but the same sources stated that the district attorney decided to resign after the governor's pardon of convicted sex offender James Timothy Smythe. Masen will reportedly take full responsibility for the mistaken conviction at a press conference tomorrow."

The bathroom door opened and Isabella stepped out. She was dressed in the oversized Wisconsin Badger T-shirt he'd given her, the hem reaching to the middle of her thighs. Unnaturally pale, she gripped the door jamb for support. Her concerned expression made it clear she'd heard the broadcast.

"They made it sound like Smythe is innocent."

"Yes. And that I railroaded him." The muscles in his shoulders knotted. "When I was at the governor's office, I never mentioned anything about the Smythe case. There's no way one of the governor's people leaked that story. The whole thing reeks of Smythe."

"And when you add the apologies Smythe insisted you make, it's going to look like the sources were right."

A weight settled on Edward's shoulders. Smythe had promised he'd destroy him. He hadn't been kidding. "First Luke, then my career, and now my reputation. What do I have left?" He looked at Bella, at the concern in her eyes, the pallor of her face. Smythe wouldn't get near her. Not again. Edward would make sure of it if he had to kill the bastard himself.

He stared out the window at the rain glistening on the roof mixing with the sheen of the lake stories below the window. "I feel so out of control. Like Smythe can do anything he wants to me, and I don't have anything to say about it."

She reached out and laid a hand on his arm, stilling him in his tracks. "I feel the same way."

Edward looked down at her. Her face was as pale as the bandage around her head. "Oh, hell, I'm sorry."

"About what?"

"I'm going on about lack of control of my career when you've lost so much more. A child."

"Our child."

"Yes. Our child." He stepped to where she gripped the door jamb and placed his hand over her fingers. Her skin was soft to his touch, her fingers fine and long. Just the way her hand had always felt in his.

"I know how much your career means to you, Edward. You don't have to explain or justify or apologize for your feelings."

Her words penetrated his defenses and hit bone. Once again she had seen thorugh him, reached out to him, and said the right thing. Just the thing he need to hear. He searched her face. For what, he didn't know. And she returned his gaze. Open. Vulnerable.

He swallowed into a dry throat. "You look like you're going to fall over. The least I can do is get you into bed."

Her glance rested on the bed before he realized what he'd said.

She released the door jamb and crossed the distance to the bed. She sat back against he headboard and stretched her legs in front of her. The white bandage at her hairline stood out against her chocolate brown hair. She looked swamped in his oversize T-shirt. Slender delicate and in need of protection. She'd been through so much. With her father, with him, and now at the hands of Smythe. Yet when he needed her the most, she was there for him with a reassuring word. A touch. A firm grasp on reality. Under that delicate shell beat a heart stronger that steel.

A heart he knew was breaking, with each day that passed.

He stepped to the side of the bed, wanting to touch her, to reassure her. "We won't give up."

She nodded, flinching slightly with the movement.

"And we'll find Luke."

"I know." She reached out and took his hand in hers. "Thank you, Edward."

"For what?"

"For being beside me. For going through this with me. I don't know how I ever could have survived this alone."

He didn't know how she'd survived all she had alone. Learning she was pregnant, giving birth, waking up in the middle of the night to the baby's cries. "Does it scare you sometimes? Having that little life totally dependent on you?"

"Are you kidding? It petrifies me."

"How do you deal with it?"

"I concentrate on the love. I let the rest fall away and concentrate on the love."

Could he do that? Could he concentrate on the love? His mother had been loving. Surely he had that in him somewhere. And God knew, Bella provided a good example.

She watched him, her brown eyes scrutinizing, assessing. Her hair spread like a silken chocolate pool over the white cotton pillowcases. Her skin was nearly as white as the bandage capping her head.

He glanced at the sheet and comforter folded back at the foot of the bed. He should raise the sheet, cover her long, smooth legs and walk out the door, but somehow he couldn't make his hands obey.

A slight smile curved the corners of her lips. "You worry, don't you? About being a father?"

The weight bore down on him. "Shouldn't I worry? I don't have much of a role model."

A little crease formed between her eyebrows. She pursed her lips as if deep in thought. "You've never told me about your father. Not in all the time we were together."

"He wasn't a man to be proud of."

"But he was your father."

"He was drunk." Memories of his father rushed through his mind in tumultuous river. He tired to block them, to dam them up as he had for years, but he couldn't.

Bella didn't say a word, she merely watched him as if waiting for him to go on.

"He had several run-ins with the law, including petty theft and a hefty number of DUI arrests. He also should have been brought up on domestic abuse charges a couple of times, but he sweet-talked my mom out of reporting him."

"He hit your mother?"

He nodded. "And occasionally me. Always when he was drunk. The booze was always his excuse, but really he was just a pathetic loser."

"I'm sorry, Edward. I didn't know."

"I didn't want you to. I don't want anyone to." And he still didn't. But looking into her eyes, so compassionate and accepting, he couldn't do anything but tell her whatever she wanted to know.

"So he must have done jail time."

"Not enough. Not nearly enough. He was a charming man. He sweet-talked the judge, my mother, me. That man was forgiven more sins than most people ever commit."

"So what happened to him?"

"He's on parole. In a halfway house here in Seattle."

Her eyebrows arched toward the bandage at her hair line. "He's still alive?"

"Yes. Though he doesn't deserve to be."

"You talk about him as if he were dead."

"I like to think of him that way. It makes things easier. And more just."

"Things? What things?"

"My mother's death?"

She leaned toward him, as if trying to see into his mind, to understand what he was saying. The crease between her eyebrows deepened. "How would that help?"

**"Easy. The bastard killed her."**


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter Eleven

Isabella's eyes widened and a gasp escaped her lips. "How did it happen?"

Pain throbbed through the muscles in Edward's neck and shoulders. He didn't want to talk about. He didn't want to remember. One minute he'd been hiding his head in the sand, telling himself that his father would someday quit drinking, someday stay on the right side of law, someday become a real father and husband. And the next thing he knew, he'd lost everything. His mother, his home and the bastard he'd pinned so many hopes on.

"He was driving drunk and hit a tree. Nothing new. The only difference was, my mother was in the car. She was killed on impact. He walked into a prison cell."

"How old were you when it happened?"

"High school. Barely fourteen. I lived in a succession of foster homes until I became of legal age." He blew a stream of air through tight lips. "So that's why I don't talk about the bastard. He never cared about my mother or me, no matter how we both wanted to pretend he did. Booze was the only thing he cared about." Edward rolled his shoulders, trying to relieve the pressure, the pain. "When he was done serving time for Mom's death, he went right back to drinking and driving and stealing to finance his bar tab. He's lived in jails, prisons and halfway houses since."

Bella's fingers closed tightly around his. "I'm so sorry, Edward. I'm so very sorry." Compassion ached in her voice. Compassion and sympathy and caring. But no pity. And for that he was profoundly grateful.

He looked deep into her brown eyes. He'd loved her once. So much it had frightened him. And looking at her now, he could almost believe his love had never really dead. That it was still there, strong as ever. Tempting him to trust. To forgive. To take her in his arms and promise her she would never be alone again.

And that he would never be alone.

Closing his eyes, he slipped his hand from hers and turned away. He had to get out of this room. He had to think. He opened his eyes and strode for the door. "I'll be back in the night to check your pupils."

"Edward?"

He stopped, but didn't face her. He couldn't. If he looked into her eyes once more, hi might just lose the sense of reality. He might just let himself fall back into her arms. Fall back into his dreams. "Yes?"

"You'll make a great dad. Trust me. You're nothing like your father. There's more love inside you than you'll ever know."

Edward stepped out of the room and closed the door. He wanted to trust her. Not just about being a good father to Luke. He wanted to trust her with his heart, his soul. And that scared him more than James Timothy Smythe ever could.

ISABELLA STARED at the closed door long after Edward left. His words echoed in her ears. His pain ached in her heart.

Her father had been greedy, corrupt and unconscionable. But that part of him hadn't surfaced until she was an adult, more able to deal with his betrayal. Edward's awakening to his father's sins had come much earlier. And the fact that his father had killed his mother made it all the more impossible to accept.

She sank into the pillows and switched off the bedside lamp. It all made sense to her now. The feeling she always got that if she crossed the line, he would write her off. And the fact he had done exactly that when she'd hesitated to believe his accusation against her father.

She tried to close her eyes, tried to sleep. But despite her throbbing head and weary bones, blessed unconsciousness wouldn't come.

She couldn't help thinking of Edward in the next room, alone with his bitter memories. If only she could have held him in her arms, kissed him until the shadows disappeared from his eyes.

She shook her head. He would never have accepted her touch, her tenderness. Even if she could have given it.

She'd loved Edward with her whole heart, it had almost killed her. And in the last fifteen months, nothing had changed. She still loved him, still yearned for his touch, his companionship, the glow in his eyes that once was there when he looked at her.

But now she knew why Edward could never give himself fully. Why she'd always felt as if she were walking a tightrope when they were together. Why he'd been so quick to write her off when she'd taken her first misstep.

"Maybe it wasn't me who was afraid to trust, Edward. Maybe it was you all along."

Smoke.

Edward jolted awake. His heart rattled against his ribs. He couldn't see. He couldn't breathe. He fumbled for the light he'd set next to him on the floor of the empty room. Finding the switch, he flicked it on. Nothing but darkness met his gaze.

He threw the blanket aside and scrambled to his feet. He didn't need a light to confirm what he already knew. The room was filled with smoke. There was a fire in the house.

Isabella.

Pulling on his pants and shirt, he crossed the room in three steps and touched the door with an opened hand. Good. The fire wasn't right outside his door. But he had to hurry. Smoke could kill long before fire could ever show its flame.

The smoke was stronger in the hallway, thicker. He crouched low, trying to find clearer air closer to the floor. There was a full blown fire, all right. He could hear the crackle of flame over the pounding of his pulse. He wasn't sure how far up the stairs it reached, but one thing was clear: they had to get out of here.

Groping his way the few steps down the dark hall, he located the door to the guest room and pushed it open. He ducked inside and shut it behind him. Through the haze and darkness, he could make out Bella's form on the bed. "Bella. Wake up. There is a fire."

She stirred, then jolted into a sitting position. Her hair tangled around her face. Her eyes shone bright in the moonlight filtering through the window. "Fire?"

"Hurry." He grabbed her hand and half lifted her out of the bed. They wouldn't be able to escape by the staircase, that was for certain. The hall was already choked with smoke, much of it pouring under the bedroom door with each second that passed. They'd never make it out without succumbing to the smoke. And the fire. NO, the only way out was the window. He crossed the room, pulling Bella with him.

She turned to him when they reached the window. "Can we get out this way? Aren't we pretty high off the ground?"

One this side of the house, the window was three stories above the ground, a dormer window set high in the middle of the sloping room. He peered out the glass. "We don't have a choice."

"We aren't going to be able to jump. There's a brick patio below this window."

"But there's a trellis as well. IF we slide down the roof to the trellis, we'll be able to climb down."

She nodded, as if his plan was logical.

He hoped to God her faith was justified. "With all the rain, the shake roof is going to be slick as ice. We'll need some way to control our descent."

She glanced around him, hurried to the bed and grasped the sheets. "We'll tie these together."

"It's worth a shot." He helped her strip the sheets from the bed and tie them, yanking the knots as tight as he could. When he was satisfied it would hold, he turned back to the window.

He slid the sash up. Fresh air rushed into the room. They took hungry breaths. So far, so good. The only thing in their way now was the screen. He unfastened the latches and gave the bottom edge a shove. It didn't budge.

Damn. As old as the house, the screens were painted in place.

Fire crackled from downstairs. Edward glanced at the closed door. The air grew thicker with smoke by the second. The rush of fresh air would fuel the fire. He hit the screen's bottom edge with the heel of his hand, again and again.

Finally the paint seal broke and the screen swung into the night, skidding down the shake roof and clattering to the brick patio three stories below. Both coughing from the smoke, he grasped her hand to steady her as she threw a leg over the windowsill. She wore only the T-shirt she'd slept in, her feet were bare. Not ideal clothing for a late-night climb, but it would all have to do. There was no way they'd be able to locate her clothes and shoes in the dark.

"The wood shake is going to be slippery, especially with bare feet. Hold on."

With out hesitation, she hoisted herself outside. She clung to the open window, wind whipping the hem of her T-shirt.

Edward hoisted himself out the window and clung beside her. The air was clear out here, and he took several deep breaths into his lungs.

"Ill go first. That way I can stop you at the bottom." The wood shake was cold and slick under his bare feet, he grasped the sheet and gave it a hard tug. It held. So far so good. The roar of ways below filled his ears along with the roar and crackle of the fire.

He glanced down. The edge of the roof was getting close now, as well as the end of his bed-sheet rope. Nothing but darkness loomed below. As long as the trellis was in the place he thought it was, they'd be all right. If it was more than a few feet to the left or right, he wasn't sure they could reach it on the slick shake shingles.

He glanced up to the window. Bella clung to the frame, a white spot in the gloom of fog and smoke. He had to be right about the location of the trellis. He had to get them both safely to the ground before the fire licked its way through the old house.

He hastened his steps His feet slipped on the shake. He fell hard against the roof. The breath exploded from his lungs. Clutching the sheet, he struggled for air. One breath. Tow. His lungs ached as he forced the smoky air into them. Slowly, he pulled himself back to his feet. Thank God the knot he'd tied to the radiator had held. If it hadn't he'd be nothing but a spot on the brick below.

Edward continued backing down the roof, hand over on the sheet rope until he reached the end. Now came the tricky part. If he went over the edge of the roof and the trellis wasn't there, it would be damn near impossible to climb back up.

He lowered himself to his stomach. The moisture from the shake seeped into his clothing. He let himself slide down the edge of the roof. Lowering himself to the end of the sheet, he tried to feel for the trellis with his feet. It was no use. He would have to let go of the sheet to get low enough to gain a foothold on the trellis. If it was indeed below him.

He sucked in a deep breath and released the sheet. He slid down the shake, the shingles both rough and slick at the same time. His legs went over the edge of the roof. Trying to stop himself, he dug his fingers into the edge of the wood shingles. At the same time, he clawed against the side of the house with his feet.

His feet hit nothing but siding...

He continued to slide. His pulse pounded in his ears. This was it. Either he found that trellis or h was on his way down to the brick patio. He moved his feet to the side, groping wildly. Finally, his toes hit wood.

Edward scrambled for a foothold, turning his body to the side to stop his momentum. A piece of trellis gave way under his thrashing feet. A few inches more. He had to have a few inches more. He strained. His toes caught a piece of solid wood. The edge of the roof dug into his stomach and scraped his skin. He clawed at the shake with his fingers. Just as he was about to go over, he wrenched his body sideways.

Then plunged over the edge.

He caught the edge of the trellis with his hands. His feet found a hold between vines. He clung there for several seconds, waiting for more of the rotting wood to crumble and send him falling three stories to the brick patio. But it didn't happen. He'd done it. Now he had to get Bella off the roof, as well.

Summoning his strength, he pulled himself up so he could see over the edge of the roof.

Bella was still at the window, staring over her shoulder at the spot Edward had disappeared. Smoke billowed out the window behind her. But even through the smoke, fog and darkness, Edward could see her tears streaking down her face.

He let go of the trellis with one hand and waved. "ISABELLA!"

She spotted him, her body almost sagging with relief. She yelled something, but he couldn't make out the words above the intensifying roar of the fire.

He motioned to her to climb down. She nodded and started lowering herself down the incline as he had, her bare feet skidding on the slippery roof.

She fell twice, but held on, lifting herself back to her feet as if by sheer will. Finally she reached the end of the sheet roof.

"Get down on your stomach."

She did as he said, flattering her body against the wet wood.

He reached for her and grasped her foot. "okay, let go and let yourself slide. Slowly."

She released the sheet without hesitating. He guided her slide, pulling her toward him as she went off the edge. She swung into the trellis, slamming into his legs. Edward could feel the wooden grid tremble under the strain, but it held. And so did he.

"I'm on the trellis."

"Do you have a secure foothold? This thing is rotten in places."

"I have it. I'm fine."

HE released her hand. The shriek of sirens slashed the night. Above, Edward could see the flame flickering out the edges of the bedroom window. They climbed down the tangle of wood and vines until they reached the ground.

Once his feet touched brick, he enfolded Bella in his arms. He held her shivering body tight against him. Tears stung his eyes.

She looked up into his eyes. "When you went over the edge, I thought you were dead. I thought we were both dead."

HE smoothed a hand over her wet, tangled hair, careful to avoid the bandage on her forehead. Her sweet scent rose above the stench of the smoke and filled his senses. "We aren't dead. We're alive."

He pressed his lips to her hair, taking in the scent of her, the feel of her.

She tilted her head back and slid her arms around his neck. Her lips were so close. So tempting. All he could think about was the feel of them against his. The feel of love. Te feel of life. He fitted his mouth over hers.

She accepted the kiss, moving her lips in a dance with his, her tongue darting into his mouth and accepting his. She clung to him as if she would never let him go.

And he didn't want to be let go. She tasted so sweet and warm, so accepting. He wanted more. He wanted all of her.

He deepened the kiss, moving his hands over her back and tangling his fingers in her hair. She was so alive. So real. It was as if the time they'd been apart never existed. As if all of it was a bad dream. The cold finger of reality inched up his spine. The last two years hadn't been a dream. This moment, the fell of her again, the kiss – this was a dream.

He pulled away from her. He could feel her eyes on him, but he couldn't return her gaze. And he damn well couldn't explain how he felt. He wasn't sure himself. "The firefighters are here. We'd better let them know we made it out of the house."

ISABELLA WRAPPED the blanket tighter around her shoulders and shivered. The June night wasn't cold. Far from it. And the flame and smoke engulfing Edward's beautiful home upped the temperature at least twenty degrees, even from where they stood across the street.

Edward stood next to her, talking with one of the firefighters about their strategy for saving the house. The flashing red lights from the trucks pulsed off his face. The white dress shirt he wore was rumpled from the day before and wet and dirty-streaked from his slide down the roof. His slacks were ruined and his bare feet. Yet his shoulders were unbowed, as if he was strong as ever, still in charge.

She tried to listen to the firefighters strategy for salvaging the house, but her mind wouldn't obey. Instead it kept replaying her and Edward's escape from the burning house, the way he'd almost plunged to his death off the roof, the way he'd guided her over the shake and onto the trellis, and most of all, the way he'd taken her into his arms and reaffirmed they were both alive. A flush spread over her skin. Being back in his arms, lost in his kiss, was the only thing that could warm her.

She shook her head. She couldn't let herself think about the way his kiss made her feel, the passion, the tenderness, the need that surged within her like a flame that couldn't be doused. She'd experienced those feelings before. She'd reveled in them. And all they'd given her was shattered dreams and a broken heart.

She forced herself to look away from Edward and to tune into the firefighter's words. "We'll have to wait to find out for certain what caused the fire, but I'd bet my bottom dollar it was arson."

"Arson?" Isabella parroted. She shouldn't be surprised. Houses didn't generally just break into flame without a good reason, even old houses like Edward's. "What makes you think it was arson?"

"The fire moved too fast. Some king of accelerant had to be used. But we can't say for certain until the fire investigator boys get in there and poke around. They'll be able to tell right away. Then all that will be left is to figure out who struck the match.

The chill spread over Bella's skin, making her hands tremble. She didn't have to figure out anything. She knew who did it. A glance at Edward confirmed he knew, too.

Smythe

He'd told Edward he was going to ruin him. Promised he would take everything Edward cared about and leave him with nothing. Of course that list would include Edward's house – the house the two of them had restored from squalor.

She felt safe in his house, as if just being inside its walls had swept her back to a simpler time, a happy time. How wrong that feeling was.

A firefighter crossed the street toward them. His stride was urgent. His face was shadowed by the fire and spotlights behind him, but she could see he was young, his pale complexion flecked by soot and ash.

He stopped beside the captain. "I need a word with you."

The older man nodded. "Go ahead."

The young firefighter glanced at Isabella and Edward. "Alone."

"Whatever it is, you can say it. Mr. Masen here is District Attorney. And Ms. Swan is an analyst at the crime lab."

The young firefighter nodded, but his eyes didn't lose their wary look. "We need to call for additional help. This isn't a simple case of arson anymore."

The captain's busy eyebrows turned down. "Outwith it, Franklin."

"We found a body, sire. A woman's body. In the master bedroom.

**She was on the Master bed."**


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter Twelve

Edward pulled a new dress shirt from the closet in his office and ripped open the package. Good thing he kept a half-dozen new shirts and a extra suit in his office. He needed to look presentable for the press conference, and all his clothing had gone up in smoke. Along with his house.

A hollow feeling lodged in his gut. He glanced around his office. Everything seemed the same as yesterday. Isabella sat in the same chair, concern tightening her lips and knitting her brown. Sun bounced off the waves of the Lake outside and streamed through his dingy window. And they still didn't have a clue where Smythe had hidden their son.

But this morning everything was different. This morning his house was gone – burned to the ground – and a woman's body had been found in his bed.

They'd stopped at Isabella's house before heading downtown to the City County Building. There she'd cleaned up, pulled her hair back into some sort of fancy twist, and dressed in a simple black skirt and blouse the same green as his eyes. Now she focused those eyes on him, her complexion so pale her eye lashes seemed to be twice there size.

"Why don't the police tell us what's going on? Why don't they tell us anything?"

Edward stripped off his wet shirt and pulled on the crisp new one. He wished he could reassure her that everything would be all right. That they would get to the bottom of the fire and the murdered woman. That they would find Luke and put Smythe behind bars.

But he wasn't sure of any of those things himself. He wasn't sure of anything anymore. "They probably don't know anything yet."

She glanced at him, shadows of doubt obvious in her eyes. "I've been around law enforcement all my life, Edward. I know when I'm part of the team and when I'm not. And right now, we're not."

"Don't read into it. The cops like to play things close to the vest until they now what they're dealing with. Sometimes that means not communicating everything to the D.A.'s office."

She nodded as if she accepted his answer. But the way she twisted her fingers in her lap told a different story. "I just can't help wondering who she is. And why Smythe killed her. Is she Victoria Melbring? Or is she someone we talked to? Someone he thought we were about to talk to?" The pitch of her voice rose. "The woman who was taking care of Luke?"

He reached in the closet and pulled out a pressed navy suit and silk tie. In fifteen minutes he was scheduled to stand in front of a group of reporters, explain why he was giving up his career, and field whatever queries they tossed his way. And here he could no more answer Bella's questions than he could answer his own.

He turned and looked into her beautiful brown eyes, – so desperate, so worried, – and shook his head. "I don't know. I just don't know."

"WHAT IS YOUR REASON for resigning? The election is only five months away. Why not wait until then?"

Edward glanced around the conference room at the gaggle of reporters and television cameras waiting for his answer. He knew what he had to say. Smythe had all but scripted his answer. The trick was in forcing the words past his lips without choking on them. Focusing on the aggressive blonde television news anchor who'd asked the question, he gripped the edge of the speakers's stand and gave her his best attempt at sincerity.

"Thank you for asking that question, Jane. I've decided to resign because I've let the people I serve down."

"How did you do that?" Jane Smith (An I know awesome name right. Haha sarcasm.) demanded.

"I made a major mistake. James Timothy Smythe never should have gone to prison. He is innocent." The words stuck in his throat like dry plaster. He forced himself to push on. "Instead of serving the people, I let my own personal and misguided bias determine my actions in his case. And it resulted in a man doing prison time for a crime he didn't commit." He glanced away from the blonde anchor woman and found Isabella in the back of the small crowd. Tears sparkled in her eyes and stained her cheeks.

He dragged his gaze from her and focused on the reporters, many with their hands in the air, waiting to prod and probe for tidbits to splash across their articles. He pointed to a male newspaper reporter with bushy eyebrows who'd been relatively soft on him in the past.

"Could your resignation have anything to do with the fire at your house last night?"

"No. I planned to resign long before last night."

"So the fact that the police found a woman's body in your bed had nothing to do with your decision?"

Edward struggled to hide his surprise. The reporter seemed to have as much information as he did about the fire in his own home. He took a calming breath. Maybe he just listened to his police scanner religiously and put the pieces together. "No. I set up this press conference two days ago with the express intent to announce my resignation. Now if there are no more questions –"

The blonde anchorwoman's hand shot up.

Edward tried his best not to flinch as he pointed to her. "Jane?"

"My sources say the woman found in your house was murdered. Do you have any comment about that?"

As far as Edward knew, the police hadn't made that determination. Not for certain. But it was possible a sharp eared reporter like Jane Smith could have heard speculation to that effect. "I'm sorry to hear that. But I have no comment. Not at this time."

"And the woman worked in the State Crime Lab. Her name was Victoria Melbring. Can you confirm that for me, Mr. Masen?"

Edward's mind spun. Victoria Melbring was no longer missing. She was dead. Her body burned to a crisp in his bed. "I have no comment."

"My sources say she worked on the James Smythe case and that you've been looking for her lately in relation to that case. Is that true?"

Pressure assaulted his chest, making it hard to breathe.

"Are you withholding comment to protect yourself, Mr. Masen?"

"No. I'm withholding comment because I haven't been briefed on the facts of the case."

"Is the reason you haven't been briefed because the police don't want to share their information with you?"

His voice caught in his throat. He pushed in out in a husky growl. "I'm sorry, Ms. Smith. I can't speculate on things I have no knowledge of."

"Let me reword the question counselor," Jame said, her voice thick with sarcasm. "are the police keeping this information from you because you're a suspect in the murder and the fire."

Edward's heart froze, then picked up a frantic beat. That was the change he'd been sensing all morning, he hadn't wanted to accept. He wasn't part of the crime-fighting team anymore, but his resignation wasn't to blame. He wasn't briefed on the case because the police suspected him of killing Victoria and setting fire to his own house to cover up the murder.

He forced himself to meet Jane Smith's gaze. "I assure you I'm not a suspect."

Jane smiled, as if she had secret knowledge. Knowledge he'd never be privy to. "That's not the way I heard it, Mr. Masen. And I have a very reliable source."

A chill raced through him. He found Bella's eyes in the crowd – eyes that echoed the fear roiling deep in his gut.

EDWARD CLOSED his office door behind him, wood cracking against wood with the finality of a judge's gavel. By the time this evening's news ended, he'd be accused, tried and convicted in the court of public opinion.

All courtesy of James T. Smythe.

He fell into his desk chair. He'd done everything Smythe demanded – he hadn't gone to the police, he'd given up his career – and still the scum had taken his child, his home, his good name and maybe even his liberty. Edward had to figure out a way to fight back. Because he damn well wasn't going to wait around to find out what James Smythe would try to take away next.

A sharp knock reverberated on the closed door. His pulse picked up its temp. After catching his eye from the crowd, Bella had wisely ducked into the bathroom before the press conference had broken up. He'd been grateful for her quick thinking. If the reporters had seen them together, who knew what they would dig up for their stories. Memories of Swan. Or worse, they might discover Luke.

He sprung from his chair. He hoped she hadn't taken any unnecessary chances in working her way back to his office. But truth was, he couldn't wait to see her. He needed her more now than ever. Needed to see her, to talk to her, to take her into his arms and to feel her body against his.

He opened the door, but instead of Isabella, he looked into the ice-blue eyes and Nordic-fair face of Assistant District Attorney Rosalie Hale, Jasper's sister and Emmett's girl.

"I'm sorry to bother you, Edward. But we need to talk."

"Come on in." He turned back to his desk, letting Rosalie close the door behind her.

"I want you to be honest with me." Rosalie opened in her usual direct way. "Is the governor pressuring you to resign?"

Edward almost gave a sigh of relief. And easy question. One he could answer point blank. He turned to face her. "No. The governor isn't pressuring me."

"Then why–"

"I think the press conference made it clear."

"Clear? The press conference was a fiasco."

Edward folded his arms across his chest. If he had any hope of fighting Smythe's manipulations, he needed answers. And if anyone would be straight with him, Rosalie would be. "Tell me the truth, Rosalie. Was it Victoria Melbring in my bed?"

"Yes."

"Am I a suspect in her murder?"

"Officially? I suppose so."

The tension in his shoulders deteriorated into crippling pain.

Rosalie held up a hand. "Relax, Edward. No one in the office thinks you murdered anyone. I doubt even the police really think you're responsible."

"I was looking for her. Before she showed up dead."

"I know."

"And another woman I was looking for, Rasula, showed up dead up in her families cabin."

She nodded her blonde head. "You found her body."

"So you've been briefed."

"Of course I have. But that doesn't mean I think you're a murderer, Edward. The investigation is a formality. No one wants to look like they're playing favorites. Not after Swan took advantage of the situation the way he did."

A cold feeling settled in Edward's gut. Bella. "I can't wait to see what the press will do when they catch the fact that Swan's daughter was with me when we found both bodies."

Rosalie nodded. "I've heard that. And I imagine soon the media will, too. They're going to have a field day, you know."

Edward balled his hands into fists by his sides. Reporters would be all over Bella, digging into her past, dredging up her father's crimes. Their whole relationship would take on the appearance of some kind of sordid affair. And Luke –

Damn Smythe. He'd found a whole new avenue for revenge, all right. A whole new avenue for making Bella's and his life hell.

"Don't worry." Rosalie said, her smile stiff with false cheer. "When all the evidence comes back from the labs, you'll be cleared."

"On page seven. Too bad I'll be accused on page one."

"True. But the fact is, you'll be cleared. And this with all fade away."

He wished he could be that certain. Smythe had done a masterful job of manipulating the situation so far. He was beginning to think the rapist-turned-murderer could mold any situation into whatever he wanted.

"Let's hope the evidence comes back soon. And that it tells the real story."

Rosalie's eyebrows lowered and she skewered him with her ice-blue gaze. "Do you care to clear up a few questions I have?"

The questions couldn't be any tougher than the ones he'd already faced. Could they? "Shoot."

"James Smythe is guilty as sin, and you of all people know it. There has to be an explanation for this DNA test coming back a match. But the explanation is not that you railroaded him on a false charge. So what was all that hoopla about at press conference?"

Edward gave a sigh, but the cause had nothing to do with relief. He should have known Rosalie wouldn't buy the line he'd fed to the press. He should count himself lucky that half the A.D.A.'s in the office weren't lined up behind her, demanding the truth.

"Let's just say I have my reasons for resigning."

"Reasons you aren't going to share with me."

"No."

Rosalie lifted her chin, seemingly satisfied for now. But if Edward knew her, she wouldn't let the subject drop that easily. She was probably just figuring out another strategy for rooting out the truth.

She leaned a slim hip on the edge of a chair "The governor has asked me if I'd accept the appointment, Edward. He wants me to be the next interim D.A."

Edward nodded. Resigning his office and who would fill his seat was the furthest thing from his mind now. He supposed learning one was a murder suspect tended to reshuffle priorities. "Congratulations. You'll do a great job."

"I don't want to appointment, Edward. You've made a wonderful D.A. Since Swan died. You've turned the office around. You should be behind this desk."

He shook his head. "We both know my political career is over. Even if I'm cleared of all wrongdoing tomorrow, I'll never be able to win an election. People tend to remember scandal. It's sexier than the truth."

Rosalie's lips straightened into a grim line. "You're probably right. At least tell me why you resigned today. The real reason."

Edward sighed one last time. It was no use. Rosalie was nearly as stubborn as Bella. "I'm going through a tough time right now."

She nodded as if to encourage him. "Because of Smythe's release?"

"Yes. But that's all I can tell you. Anything more and I'm afraid I'll draw you into a mess you don't want to be any part of."

"Another scandal?"

He nodded. "A dangerous one."

"Does it have to do with why Emmett was shot."

"Yes."

Anger darkened her eyes. "What can I do to help?"

"Nothing. Emmett was trying to help. That's why he was shot. I'm not about to put you in that position."

"I'm not a novice when it comes to handling dangerous situations, you know."

Edward remembered. Rosalie had survived several attempts on her life tied to a case in the past. But that didn't mean he was going to put her in harm's way now. Not unless there was a good reason. "If I need your help, I'll let you know."

The chirp of a cell phone cut through the room, staving off Rosalie's inevitable protest. Edward looked around the room. Bella's purse perched on his desk blotter, her cell phone peeking out the top.

His gut clenched. Was Smythe making sure the press conference had gone off without a hitch? Or was he calling to taunt Edward about the fire in his house – and Victoria Melbring's murder?

Bracing himself, he reached for the phone, punched the button and held it to his ear. "Yes?"

"Uh, I'm looking for Isabella Swan?" A woman's voice came over the line.

Edward glanced at the door. He wanted to talk to Bella, too. He needed to. "This is Edward Masen. If you'd like to leave a message for Isabella, I'll be sure she gets it."

"Oh, Mr. Masen. She told me I could also give the results directly to you."

"Results? What results?"

"I'm calling from the State Crime Lab. Isabella asked me to do some additional testing on a blood sample. She said to look for ay substance that might be mingled with the blood."

Edward's pulse picked up its pace. He didn't know Bella had asked for additional tests. But he wasn't surprised she was covering all the possible avenues. "Did you find anything?"

"Yes. Something unusual, to say the least."

Edward clutched the phone harder, his grip making the plastic creak. "What?"

"There seem to be traces of a tomato substance mixed with the blood."

"Tomato substance?"

**"Yes. It's consistent with ketchup."**


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter 13

Isabella wrapped her arms around herself and leaned against the bathroom vanity for support. She hated that she'd had to duck out of the press conference before it was over, but she hadn't had a choice.

The questions from the media whirled through her mind. She cringed at the thought of the stories that would no doubt appear on the six o'clock news and in the Washington newspaper tomorrow morning. Suggestions that Edward's resignation was linked to the mysterious fire. Suspicious that his search for Victoria Melbring led to her murder. Parallels with her father's crimes and corruption.

And if they found out Isabella had been with Edward the whole time...

So exchanging looks with Edward, she'd slipped out a side door and into the bathroom to wait until the reporters had left. The voices beyond the rest room door had thinned and faded since. Now her problem was to get to Edward's office without being seen. She needed to talk to him, to touch him, to make sure he was all right. And to make sure she was all right, too.

Her body still throbbed with the feel of his solid arms holding her last night after they'd escaped the fire. Her lips still tingled with his kiss. And though they hadn't exchanged a word about the passion and tenderness that had flared between them. She couldn't help but hope it had given them both the strength to get through what they had to do today.

Strength they both sorely needed.

She shivered and tried to push the image of Luke from her mind. Edward said Smythe wouldn't hurt their baby. But after his brutal slaying Rasula, the shooting of Emmett, and now Victoria Melbring's murder and the fire, she wasn't convinced he would draw the line anywhere.

James Smythe had made it clear he was dead set on destroying Edward. But it wasn't until now that Bella really felt he might succeed.

She focused on the quiet outside the rest room door. Now was her chance. She opened the door and peeked out. No reporters lingered in the halls or the conference room beyond. Slipping out of the rest room, she started in the direction of Edward's office. And stopped dead at the end of the hall. There at the reception desk stood Jessica Stanley digging through her desk and piling items into a cardboard box.

Bella gritted her teeth and walked straight for the woman. Getting back to Edward's office would have to wait. IF Jessica knew anything about Smythe's location, his plans, and, most of all, where he was hiding Luke, Bella wanted to know.

If she had to, she'd strangle it out of her. "Jessica?"

"I'm awfully busy right now. Can it wait?" Jessica's gaze shifted over the reception area as if she was looking for a way out.

Bella wasn't about to give her one. "If you want to talk here, that's fine by me."

Jessica's eyes widened. She glanced at the secretaries and paralegals bustling around the office and shook her head. "This way."

She led Bella into a vacant office and closed the door. "What do you–"

"I want my baby."

"Your baby?"

"Your brother kidnapped my baby. I want him back. And you are going to tell me where Luke is. Got it."

Jessica laughed. "If you expect me to believe he's become a kidnapper of babies, you're deluded."

Isabella eyed the woman. She seemed confident. As if she was telling the truth. She couldn't be. "Edward Masen is my baby's father. Smythe took Luke for revenge."

The smile disappeared from Jessica's face.

"Just in case you didn't know, your brother has also killed at least two women. And tried to kill a police detective."

Jessica shook her head. Her bobbed hair whipped against her cheeks. "You're crazy. James wouldn't do those things." Her voice ran with conviction. Either the woman should be starring in Hollywood or she really didn't believe Smythe capable of killing.

Isabella narrowed her eyes. "Like he wouldn't rape women?"

She raised her chin in defiance, but she didn't meet Bella's gaze. "He wasn't guilty of that. The governor pardoned him."

"And how do you think that came about?"

"Your test showed the DNA matched the sample from that recent rape attempt and the rapes James was convicted for. And James was in prison at the time of the recent rape. Edward put away the wrong man."

What Bella wouldn't give to put her hands around the woman's neck and shake her. Jessica was protecting her brother, that was certain. And Bella had to break down the woman's defenses. She had to get her to tell where Luke was. Because Smythe had definitely escalated the stakes in the game he was playing. And she and Edward were out of leads.

"Would the wrong man grab me by the throat, threaten me and shove my head into the edge of a table."

"I never gave you permission to snoop in my house. You surprised James. He never would have hurt you other wise."

"Like he never would have hurt the other women? The women he raped."

Jessica's gaze shifted away from Bella once again.

Isabella took a step toward her. "You can't even look me in the eye. You obviously know he raped those women."

Jessica's shoulders slumped. She held up a hand. "He's had a hard life. His mother beat him, did you know that? It's only natural he would have a hard time with women. But that's in the past. He's learned his lesson, and he isn't going to do that anymore. He promised me."

"And you believed him?"

"He promised me on the life of the woman who raised him. He wouldn't do that and not mean it. Besides, he was pardoned for those rapes. He can't be tried for that ever again. That's over."

"It's not over, Jessica. Not as long as he's out there free. One of the women he tried to murdered since he's been out was Rasula. Did he tell you that?"

He body jolted with recognition at the name.

"He raped her, then strangled her. Edward and I found her body at her family's vacation home."

Jessica shook her head. "It wasn't James."

"And he shot Detective Emmett Cullen as he was sleeping in his bed."

"James couldn't."

"He could. And he did. And that's not all. Last night he set fire to Edward's house. Edward and I were almost killed. And the firefighters found a woman's body in the master bedroom. It was Victoria Melbring. Do you know her?"

Jessica gnawed the inside of her cheek. Apparently brother dear didn't share the details of his day with his sister.

An ache of worry wrapped around Bella's lungs, making it hard to breathe. If Jessica was the only person Smythe confided in, she would know something of her brother's actions. Wouldn't she? He wouldn't have kept her in the dark totally.

"And your brother kidnapped my son. Edward's and my son. I have to find him, Jessica. I'm afraid he's going to hurt my baby next."

The last of the color drained from Jessica's face. "How do I know you're telling the truth?"

"Call the police department. Call the hospital and check on Emmett. Watch the news tonight. I'm not lying."

"I can't believe it. I just can't believe it."

"Tell me what you know. Please. Before he hurts my baby. Before it's to late. Where is my son!?"

"I don't know."

"He just got out of prison. He would have needed help. He can't be taking care of a baby all by himself." Bella's pulse pounded in her ears. Unless he wasn't taking care of the baby. Unless Luke was already dead.

Pain seized Isabella, nearly doubling her over. Luke couldn't be dead. He couldn't be. Bella would feel it, wouldn't she? Wouldn't she know?

She grasp Jessica's arm. She'd shake the truth out of the woman if need be.

A knock sounded on the door. The sound had barely registered in Bella's mind before the door was pushed open and Edward stepped inside.

"There you are." He looked from Bella to Jessica, his gaze settling on Bella's grip on Jessica's arm. "What's going on?"

Isabella pulled a breath of air into her lungs. Thank god, Edward was here. He would help to get to the bottom of this. He would help her force Jessica to tell the truth.

Jessica pulled her arm from Isabella's grasp. Her mouth flattened into a controlled line and her dark eyes hardened with resolve. "Nothing but a bunch of lies. Lies I'm not buying into."

Edward swung the door wide and allowed Rosalie Hale into the room. He was so serious. So intense. And behind him, Rosalie's elegant face was sharp, as well.

Fear seized Isabella like a strong hand. Her knees felt weak. "What happened?"

Edward pulled his gaze from Jessica and looked into Bella's eyes. "I got a call from the crime lab. It was about some tests you asked them to preform."

Isabella allowed herself to breathe, scooping oxygen into her hungry lungs. She'd feared the worst, that something had happened, that the police had found Luke, that he was –

She cut off the thought. She couldn't let herself think that way. If she did, she wouldn't be able to function.

"Did they find anything in the blood?"

He nodded. "Ketchup."

"Ketchup?" She repeated. A cold realization stole over her. "Of course. Ketchup. As in little foil packets ideal for transporting small amounts of blood. As in Aro Cohen."

Edward's gaze bore into her. "Exactly."

Although she and Edward had tossed around the suspicion that Aro was involved, she'd never wanted to believe it. She didn't want to believe it now. "Aro helped Smythe smuggled blood from the prison."

Jessica took a step toward the door. "IF you don't need me anymore, I'm going to finish packing up my things. Please pass my resignation along to the next district attorney."

"Not so fast." Edward held up a hand.

Behind him, Rosalie barred the door. A head taller than Jessica, Rosalie looked down her straight nose. Regal and blonde, she looked more like Scandinavian royalty than the hardworking assistant district attorney she was. "I'm next D.A. And I need a word with you, Jessica. As soon as Edward and Isabella are done here."

Jessica looked from Rosalie to Edward to Isabella. "If you have evidence Aro Cohen helped James, why do you need me? Why don't you grill Aro about the things you say James has been doing?"

Isabella watched the fear race over Jessica's face, pieces falling into place in her mind. She could still picture Aro Cohen at the brew pub, grabbing ketchup packets from his briefcase, ripping them open and squeezing them onto his burger and fries, when the waitress had forgotten to bring the condiment to the table.

"Aro didn't help Smythe . He didn't mean to, at any rate." She glanced at Edward, looking for his reaction.

He nodded as if following her thoughts. "Aro carried the blood out of the prison, but he didn't have anything to do with the scheme. He didn't even know he was carrying Smythe's blood. He, like everyone else, just assumed it was ketchup inside those ketchup packets he has in his briefcase."

Bella picked up the tread and ran with it. "and then someone else took the blood from his briefcase while Aro wasn't looking and hired Rasula to fake the rape."

Isabella glanced at Jessica. The guilt and fear on the woman's face said it all. Bella brought her gaze back to Edward. "So, Runyon did nothing more than convey messages to and from prison. And Victoria Melbring?"

"I think she merely gave Smythe the notion, if that." Edward tore his gaze from Bella and turned an accusing stare on Jessica. "But I think we know who did the rest."

Jessica straightened. "I want a lawyer."

He nodded. "You're going to need one."

Isabella focused on Jessica. After the way she'd defended her half brother, the fact she'd helped spring him from prison didn't surprise Bella in the least. But the last thing she wanted was for the woman to hire some attorney who'd tell her not to say a word. Bella still hadn't gotten the answers she needed – the most important answers of all.

"First tell me about Luke. Where is he? What has your brother done with him? Please."

Unflinching, Jessica looked her straight in the eye. "I don't know anything about your baby. I swear."

Isabella dropped her gaze to the floor and fought back the tears blurring her eyes. She had no more questions. And no more hope. Because this time, no matter what Jessica had done. Isabella knew in her gut the woman was telling the truth.

EDWARD WATCHED ISABELLA pick at the sandwich he'd bought for her. She usually loved the subs from the local Italian deli. But after today, she probably was having trouble choking down a single bite of food. And he couldn't blame her.

Even though they discovered the truth behind the DNA double ploy that had led to James Smythe's pardon, they were no closer to finding Luke than they were the night Smythe kidnapped him.

Isabella looked up from her untouched sandwich. Circles hovered under her eyes, puffy with tears. "Jessica hasn't said anything more, has she?"

"No. She's following her attorney's advice."

"It doesn't matter."

"Why do you say that?"

"She doesn't know where Luke is. Smythe didn't confide in her about the things he did after he got out of prison. She was under the impression that her half brother was a swell guy." Bitterness laced her tone.

"Rosalie will keep working on her. She might give us information in exchange for a reduced charge."

Isabella shook her head. "She doesn't know about Luke. We've reached a dead end."

Despite his better judgment, Edward reached across the table and touched her shoulder. He wanted to take her into his arms. He wanted to kiss away her fear as he'd kissed the tears from her face last night. He wanted to make everything right again. For her. For Luke. And for him.

And damn it, he refused to believe they were at a dead end. "If not his sister, who else would he trust to keep a baby for him?"

Isabella's gaze shot to his face, life stirring in her brown eyes. "The housekeeper? She was pretty quick to tell us about his relationship with Jessica. Maybe she just wanted to throw us off."

Edward shook his head. "It isn't her. She testified against Smythe at the first trial. Ripped his alibi to shreds. I can't see him ever forgiving her, let alone trusting her to keep a baby stashed for him. She's probably on his revenge list after me."

Isabella's eyes glazed as if her mind was far away. "She said, 'he promised me on the life of the woman who raid him."

"What?"

"That's what Jessica said to me. She said Smythe promised her he wouldn't rape again 'on the life of the woman who raised him.' It was the reason she believed he'd stopped."

"He couldn't have meant his mother."

"No. Jessica knew his mother beat him. It had to be someone else. Someone who was good to Smythe when he was growing up. Someone he cared about – if he's capable of caring about anyone at all. Someone like a nanny."

Edward jutted to his feet and strode across the room to the blank file cabinets on the far wall. He pulled a draw open and rifled the files. "Why didn't I think of it before? If I remember correctly, Smythe had one nanny through most of his childhood."

Locating the file he was looking for, he pulled it from the drawer and spread it open.

Tense as a spring, Isabella followed him to the cabinet and looked over his shoulder at the papers. He could hear her sharp intake of air as she caught her breath and held it.

He flipped through the papers, his fingers beginning to shake. Finally he found what he was looking for. "Here she is. Jane Thompson. And she lives only about a forty-minute drive from here."

ISABELLA SHIFTED in the passenger seat of Edward's car and watched the windows of the tiny ranch house. The house, the yard, the whole town looked straight out of a small-town cliché. She glanced down the quiet street. "It's hard to imagine James Smythe having anything to do with such a peaceful town. The neighbors probably leave their doors unlocked."

"Jane Thompson was probably one of the few good influences Smythe had in his life."

"Have you met her?"

"I cross-examined her. She was one of the character witnesses Runyon trotted out as apart of his flimsy case."

"So she'll know who you are as soon as she peeks out the door."

"I assume so"

"Then I'll have to go to the door."

He frowned and shook his head. "Not a good idea."

She wasn't about to take no for an answer. "All I need to do is to convince her to open the door. If Luke is inside, I'm going to find him. Nothing is going to stand in my way. Certainly not an elderly nanny."

"What if Smythe is inside? Do you want to risk a replay of what happened at Jessica's house?"

Isabella's breath hitched in her throat. She hadn't thought about the possibility of Smythe hiding here. Just the thought of his presence in this quiet town was an abomination. "He wouldn't be here, would he?"

"I don't know. But I don't want you anywhere near if he is."

"But if you go to the door, the woman might not even answer the door, let alone invite you inside."

"We'll have to take that chance."

"No. Let me go. You can wait in the bushes near the house. If Smythe is there, you'll be close enough to use that gun of yours."

Edward smiled. She might not like guns, but after being attacked by Smythe twice and finding two women murdered by him, she wasn't as averse to the thought of him using it as she'd been only days ago.

"You win." He slipped an arm around her shoulders and pulled her against him. "I'll stay in the bushes until you need me."

She leaned into his warmth, into his strength. She wasn't alone. Edward was here with her. They would find Luke. They would bring him home. And together they would raise him. Even if they couldn't be husband and wife, they could be Luke's parents. That was all she dared ask for. To have Edward in her life again. To be a family.

Taking a deep breath, she grasped the handle and pushed the door open. She climbed out of the car and smoothed her sweaty hands over her skirt. Before she had the chance to think – to remember Smythe's hands on her, his breath fanning her face – she forced her feet to take one step after another up the street.

She turned onto the sidewalk flanked by moss roses. The sound of Edward's car door opening and the rustle of arborvitae followed her, but she forced herself not to turn around. If she needed him, he'd be there. And that was all she needed to know.

She walked up the narrow walk, her heels clicking on concrete, the only sound in the still summer afternoon. Sweat beaded on her forehead and dampened the hair at the nape of her neck. She climbed the shallow steps leading to the front door and pressed a finger to the glowing doorbell button.

A chime echoed in the house. A few moments later footsteps pattered on the other side of the door. Ruffled sheers pulled back from a die light, and a blue eye peeked out at Isabella. "I'm sorry. I'm not interested in buying anything."

"I'm not selling anything, ma'am." Apparently this snug little community wasn't as naive as it appeared. So much for Ozzie and Harriet stereotypes. The residents of this neighborhood had joined the modern world of crime along with the rest of society.

Or at least the modern world of door-to-door salespeople and evangelists.

Isabella would have to try a track no kindhearted woman could resist. She infused her voice with all the emotion threatening to break her apart. "I need your help."

"What for?"

"My car has broken down. I need to use your phone to call Triple A."

The blue eye didn't seem to soften. "There's a service station down a few blocks. They can help you there."

So much for hoping Clara Thompson would offer to be a good Samaritan. But the woman had worked her entire life as a nanny, surely Bella could sue that to her advantage. "I can't walk that far. My children are asleep in the car. I hate to wake them. And I can't leave them alone."

The eye withdrew and the sheer fell back into place. A few rattles of locks and the door opened.

The house was dim inside and Bella had to wait for a moment to let her eyes adjust. Lined sea foam draperies cloaked the windows, blocking the sun. No doubt to keep the sea foam couch from fading. Or the dark green sculpted carpet. And everywhere she looked, upholstery and the wood alike were covered with crocheted doilies. It reminded her of visiting her grandmother's house when she was a child.

Jane Thompson stared up at her from her barely five-foot height. Eyes wary, she forced a polite smile to her lips. "You'll have to follow me. The phone is in the kitchen. I don't have one of those fancy ones without the cord."

"I really appreciate this, ma'am. I don't know how I could have handled getting the children to walk one block, let alone several."

"Happy to do it." She nodded matter-of-factly, but she didn't look happy about it. Not happy at all. "How many children do you have?"

Bella paused to come up with a number. "Three."

The woman nodded knowingly. Apparently she'd chosen the right one. "The kitchen is this way."

As soon as the woman turned, Isabella took the opportunity to glance around the house. The place was small – tiny really. It shouldn't be hard to find evidence of a baby. Even easier than at Jessica's condo. The only drawback was that Mrs. Thompson was painfully neat.

She followed the woman to the back of the house and the kitchen. There on a dish drainer near the sink propped a freshly washed bottle.

A shiver zinged to Isabella's toes.

She motioned to the bottle. "You must have grandchildren."

The woman's smile was genuine this time. "You could say that."

"A baby?" Isabella's legs shook so badly, she leaned against the counter for balance.

"Yes. A boy as sweet as can be."

"I love babies. May I see him?"

Clara hesitated for a moment, then shrugged. "I don't see why not. He just went down for his nap. I'm sure we won't wake him if we just peek in." She squeezed past Bella and walked into the narrow hallway.

Isabella forced her trembling legs to follow in Clara's footsteps. Her heart hammered against her ribs. She glanced at the window, searching for a sign of Edward outside. The baby had to be Luke. It had to be. If it wasn't, Bella didn't know how she'd control the tears burning behind her eyelids.

Clara opened one of the bedroom doors and stood aside for Bella to peek in.

Biting her lip, she craned her neck to see around the door. The room was dark and it took her eyes several moments to adjust. The outline of a crib came into focus. Then a little body huddled on the mattress.

And then her child's beautiful face.

**Luke...**


	14. Chapter 14

Chapter Fourteen

"Luke!" She yelled.

She pushed past the older woman and crossed the room in two strides. Reaching into the crib, she picked up her sweet little boy and kissed his sweet-smelling head. "It's okay, sweetheart. Mommy's here. Everything's going to be all right."

"What are you doing? He's napping. Put him down." Jane's eyes flashed even in the dark room.

Tears blurred the dim room into a mosaic of shadow. "He's my son."

"You're his mother?" Jane barred the door, threatening despite her small stature and feeble age. "You abandoned him. What kind of woman abandons her own child?"

"Abandoned? He was kidnapped. Stolen from me."

Luke flailed his hands. His cry split the air.

"Now see what you've done?" Jane advanced. Her hands grasped Isabella's arm.

Isabella twisted her body to keep Luke away from her. "Edward!" She yelled.

The crash of the front door flying open shook the little house. Suddenly, Edward was in the room. He grabbed Jane from behind, detaching her grip from Bella and restraining her arms at her sides.

"Let go of me." Jane clawed at his arm. She lunged at Bella, her effort stunted by Edward's hold. She struggled to break free. "This baby belongs with his father. Not with you."

"The baby's father?" Isabella met Edward's eyes.

"James cares more about him than you has provided everything for this baby. You just walked away."

Fury welled inside Bella. She skewered Clara Thompson with a hard stare. "James Timothy Smythe is not this baby's father. Edward is Luke's father. Smythe kidnapped our child."

The woman froze.

"Go, Bella. Now." Edward ordered.

Isabella whirled for the door. Running out of the room and down the hall, she cradled Luke against her, trying not to jostle him. She ran all the way to the car. By the time she reached it, Edward was right behind her. They ducked inside and locked the doors. Edward twisted the key in the ignition and the car sparked to life.

Bella cradled her son in her arms, the most precious thing in her life, and looked straight into Edward's green eyes. "Meet your daddy, Luke."

THE BABY LOOKED UP at Edward from the changing table in his bedroom where Isabella was undressing him. She was right. Luke looked just like him. The spitting image from his bright green eyes, to his crazy bronze hair.

Except for his little bow mouth, so like Bella's.

When Bella had held the baby up to meet him once they were safe in the car, too many emotions to name had surged through Edward. Joy, pride, worry, fear. They had flashed so fast, he couldn't pick one from another. And now, even hours later, he still hadn't been able to sort them out.

He'd always wanted a family, a wife, children. But somewhere deep inside, he never truly believed that kind of happiness was in his reach. But here it was, his own son, looking at him with sparkling, green, innocent eyes.

Tears stung, but he didn't let them fall. He should be happy. Luke was home. The police were out searching for Smythe with a vengeance. And a regular army had been set up outside Bella's house to protect her and Luke. Edward should be enjoying the evening with his baby, reveling in relief that the nightmare was over, planning to get on with his life.

He reached out to touch the tiny mat of hair on his head. His hand dwarfed the little guy's head.

He was so fragile. So vulnerable. So dependent on his parents to take care of him, to not let him down.

Edward's throat constricted. Plenty of responsibility came with raising a baby. Responsibility his own father had shirked. And even though the moment Edward had heard about Luke's existence he'd vowed to live up to that responsibility, he didn't have a clue how to begin.

But God, he wanted to learn.

"It's time for him to eat and go to bed." Bella secured the diaper tape and started clothing the little guy in pajamas sprinkled with yellow bears. Her fingers moved smooth and sure over the baby's clothes, slipping fabric over a limb here, securing a set of snaps there, as if the whole operation was second nature to her. Lifting Luke from the changing table, she looked at Edward and smiled through her drape of chocolate brown hair.

What he wouldn't give to smooth that hair back from her face right now, to caress a silken cheek, to take her and their baby into his arms and never let them go. The wife, the family, the complete package. All within his grasp if he could only reach out and claim them.

"Do you want to play with him for a little while?"

He stuffed his hands into his pockets and rocked back on his heels. "He's had a big day. And he's probably hungry. I'll play with him tomorrow."

Bella's cocked her head, an ethereal smile lighting her eyes. "That's right. We have tomorrow, don't we? A lifetime of tomorrows."

Her words cut Edward to the core. A lifetime with Bella and their son. It sounded like heaven. Or more like a fantasy. It couldn't be reality. Not for someone like him – someone who grew up without a real family, without a stable home.

Could it?

Bella's telephone range once, followed b the chirp of her cell phone. A forwarded call.

Smythe.

Bella's eyes rounded and met his. He could almost see the questions poised on her lips, the fear she didn't want to voice.

"It could be the police." He said, trying to make his voice reassuring.

The phone rang again.

"The kitchen." She whispered. "The phone is in my purse."

He ripped his gaze from her face and ran down the hall and the stairs to the kitchen. Bella's purse perched on a counter-top, the phone inside. He pulled it out and hit the button.

"Yes?"

"You shouldn't have messed with me. You should have followed my instructions."

Fury flared inside Edward. "Go to hell, Smythe. It's over. We have the baby."

"I know. Nanny's very upset she lost my son."

Edward gritted his teeth. The thought that Smythe had passed Luke off as his own grated on his nerves like a boot heel on gravel. As, no doubt Smythe knew it would. "It's all over Smythe. We know all about the way you and Jessica used Aro Cohen to smuggle your blood out of prison. The way Jessica paid Rasula to stage the attempted rape."

"So you've been digging, so what? You aren't going to be able to convince my sister to testify against me. What else do you have?"

"The deaths of Rasula and Melbring."

"The way I heard it, the police like you for those murders. At least that's what was all over the evening news."

Edward gritted his teeth. So Jamie Smith had gone ahead with her story. Edward's career as district attorney really was over.

Isabella entered the kitchen. Face pale, she clutched Luke tight, as if afraid Smythe could reach him over the phone lines.

Edward gave her his best imitation of a smile. Some how just looking at her holding their son made sacrificing his career lose its sting.

"Can't think of anything thing else, huh?" Smythe's smug voice snaked into his thoughts. "You forgot that detective. What's his name? Emmett Cullen? Though I understand he hasn't died – yet."

And he wasn't going to. Emmett was growing stronger every day. Not that Smythe needed to know that. "We'll add attempted murder to your charges. Arson, too."

"But where's the evidence?"

"The police have plenty of evidence against you for kidnapping."

"Oh? How can I kidnap my own baby?"

"You might have been able to fool your elderly nanny, but you won't fool anyone else."

"Who's to say he's not min? There's no father listed on the birth certificate. Did you know that? Short of a DNA test, you can't prove the kid is yours, any more than I can, Masen."

"Or we could just make it easy and ask the mother."

"If she's alive to tell the tale."

Rage screamed in Edward's ears anger pounded with each beat of his heart. He was sick to death of James Timothy Smythe. And now that they'd found Luke, he didn't have to play his twisted games anymore. "It's just a matter of time before the police find you, Smythe. The next time I ever see you. I'll be in the witness box testifying about the things you've done."

His laugh grated over the phone line like a string of profanity. "I wouldn't count on them finding me. Not yet. I'm not done with you. And I'm certainly not done with the brunette. You're still in my reach."

"Go to hell, Smythe."

"Been there. But I'd love to give you a tour. Pleasant dreams." The phone line went dead.

Damn. Edward punched off the phone and pounded his fist on the counter top the way he wanted to pound Smythe's smug face.

"What did he say?" Bella searched his face, her skin as white and fragile looking as a tissue.

"The usual. How he's not done with us. How we are still in his reach."

"Are we?"

"I don't see how. The police have this place surrounded."

"And they'll keep it up until he's caught."

"He's getting desperate. Sloppy. They'll catch him soon."

"And if they don't?"

"Then we'll get out and Luke out of town. Somewhere Smythe can't find you." As the words left his lips, emptiness ached in his chest.

"I don't want to leave, Edward. I want to stay here. With you."

He knew how she felt. Knew if far to well. And he didn't want to stay with her for a night or a week or a month. He wanted to believe he could live in the fantasy for the rest of his days.

If only his past and James Timothy Smythe would let him.

Isabella stopped at the entrance of the living room. The room was dark, but she knew Edward was inside. Pausing a moment to let her eyes adjust, she spotted him. He stood at the front window. Holding a section of sheers aside with one hand, he stared into the darkness outside. Tension hardened his shoulders, visible even under the crumpled dress shirt.

She wanted to slip behind him and massage the hard muscles. She wanted to feel the warmth of his skin under the crisp cotton, the knotted muscles slowly succumbing to her fingers. She wanted to lose herself in the masculine scent of him, so close, so real.

While Luke was in Smythe's hands, she hadn't been able to think of anything but finding him, of holding him close again, of ensuring his safety. But now that he was safe in his bed, thoughts and feelings swirled within her life dangerous currents.

She wasn't worried about Smythe and his threats. Not really. Edward had reassured her that he would never be able to get past the police outside. No, she was more worried about herself. And her feelings s for Edward.

Since Edward had written her off fifteen long months ago, she'd focused on putting herself back together and protecting herself from ever being hurt again. But in the past few days, she'd forgotten what she was protecting.

Taking a deep breath of courage, she stepped into the room and crossed the plush carpet. Although Edward didn't glance back from his vigil, he knew she was there. She could hear it in the speeding of his breathing pattern and feel it in the charged air.

"Did you get the baby to bed?"

It was such an innocent question, a natural question, yet the low rumble of his voice caused a warm stirring in the pit of her stomach. "He was tired. He went to sleep before he finished nursing."

He nodded, the light from the hallway glinting in the bronze of his hair.

Bella stepped toward him as if pulled by a force she couldn't control. Stopping behind him, she slipped her hands on either side of his neck and began to knead the hard muscle with her fingers.

He held up a hand. "Bella, don't."

She stopped kneading, but left her hands in place soaking up the heat through his wrinkled shirt. "Sorry, you just look so tense."

Slowly he turned to face her. A crease formed between his penetrating green eyes and tiny lines rimmed his lips. The hall light reflected off his glasses, hiding his eyes.

But she didn't need to see his eyes to know what he was feeling. It was the same thing she was feeling. The yearning, the heat she'd seen rekindle in his eyes over the past few days. The passion she'd felt in his kiss after they'd escaped the fire. She dropped her hands to her sides.

"You're right. I am tense."

"Why?"

He looked away from her. "I don't know. Smythe's call I guess."

"You said that even if he was obsessed enough to try something, he wouldn't get past the police outside."

"He won't."

"Then we're safe, aren't we? And Luke is safe, too."

He looked back into her eyes. "Yes. We're safe from Smythe."

She said nothing. She didn't know what else to say. They both knew where danger lay. And it wasn't somewhere outside her house. It was here. In this room. And it stretched between them like a minefield.

"You're really good with Luke, you know. A natural mother."

"Thank you. It wasn't always easy." As soon as the words left her lips, she wanted to take them back. He'd take them the wrong way. He'd blame himself. "But it was always worth it. I'm just glad I can finally share him with you."

He lips curled in a solemn smile. "It's amazing."

"What is?"

"That the two of us created him. It's a miracle."

She nodded, unsure her voice would function. In the long months she carried Luke inside her, she'd often dreamed of Edward saying something like this to her. That their baby was a miracle, that he was the culmination of their love. And in her imagination he'd always followed that pronouncement by asking her to come back to him, to marry him so the three of them could be a real family.

"I miss you, Edward."

A muscle flexed along his jaw. "Don't go there, Bella. Please."

She shook her head. As much as she wanted to do as eh asked to stay safe and avoid her feelings, to bury them in the ground until they turned to dust, she couldn't. "I know you can't forgive me. I know you can't promise me anything. But I see the look in your eyes, Edward. And you want the same things I do. The things we always used to want."

He took a step away from her, as if he was going to pace across the room. But he didn't take the next step. "Hell, Bella., there's nothing to forgive. But as much as I want to. I can't go back."

"I don't want to go back, either. I want to go forward, if we can. I want to give us a chance. A chance we never really had before."

"Never really had?"

She bit her bottom lip. How could she explain her feelings to him? The uneasiness of never being certain where she stood? The fear that one day he'd write her off for something she'd never foreseen? "Even when we were happy, I was never sure where I stood with you. I always felt that I had to watch every step I took or you'd write me off."

"Like I wrote you off when you sided with your father.

"Exactly. Being with you was like walking a tightrope. And I never knew my feet had slipped from the rope until I was on my way to floor of the big top and you'd stopped loving me."

His eyes flashed and he gripped my shoulder looking straight into my eyes. "Isabella. I never.. ever stopped loving you."

A chill shook her from the inside out.

"I just couldn't let myself show it. I couldn't let myself take you back."

"Like your mother took your father back?"

He shook his head. "Like I took my father back. It wasn't just mymother who forgave him. I wanted him to be the man he should have been. I never gave up wanting that. I never gave up believing in him. And I know damn well that was the main reason my mother stayed with him. She didn't want to disappoint me."

A chill climbed up Bella's spine. She reached for Edward's hand, "You were a kid, Edward. You can't take that kind of responsibility on yourself."

"It's the truth. I may not have caused my mother's death, but I did contribute to it. My dreams and fantasies of having a father contributed to it. And as a result, I lost both her and my father for good."

The pain in his eyes stole her breath. She swallowed into a raw throat.

His fingers closed around hers and squeezed. "It's not that I can't trust you. I can't trust that what I'm feeling is real and not just the way I want things to be. And I can't risk hurting you if I'm wrong."

"What I feel is real, Edward. I love you."

Reaching a hand to her face, he traced her jaw with a feather touch, stopping when he reached her lips. "I'm sure what you feel is real. But then you've always been much more sure of yourself. You've always known what you want out of life."

"I wanted you, Edward.. All of you. Forever. Without reservations. And it's what I want now."

He shook his head. "I don't know if I can give you that."

She looked into his eyes, so tortured, so sad. Maybe he was right. Maybe he couldn't give her what she wanted, what she needed. Maybe she would never be sure of his love, never be sure he would stay with her, that she would never be alone again. Maybe he would leave her heartbroken and battered.

But none of it mattered.

"I love you, Edward. And I want you. If that means we can only be together for a night or a week or an hour, so be it."

She took a breath and looked straight at him.

**"I'll take it and feel like the luckiest woman on earth."**


	15. Chapter 15

Chapter Fifteen

Edward watched Isabella's lips purse together, her eyes searching his face as if looking for answers. She'd sounded so sure of herself, so sure of her offer to him. But he could tell inside she was unsure as he was.

"Edward?" Her voice was tremulous, no more than a whisper, and it hung in the air between them.

He ran his fingertips along her cheek. She was so soft. So vulnerable. And at the same time, strong as iron.

God, he wanted her.

The fantasy couldn't last. He knew it. Not for Bella and not for him. But maybe for this one night, that dint' matter. Maybe for this one night they could live in the fantasy and let all the rest fall away. Maybe for this one night they could be happy.

"I want you, Isabella. I've wanted you for so long."

A smile spread over her lips . Lips he wanted to touch, to kiss, to claim.

Fire curled inside him. He'd tried not to think of their past together, back when they were happy. He'd tired not to let himself remember. He'd been struggling since the night she'd shown up on his doorstep and told him they had a son. But now with her standing in front of him, her eyes darkened to deep brown with passion, he didn't need to relive memories. The dream was right here. Right now. A dream he wanted to lose himself in.

He cradled her face in his palms, burying his fingers in her hair. Her skin was like satin, her hair silkier and more lush than in his memories. His fantasies.

She closed her eyes, her lashes brushing pale cheeks. Her lips parted, soft and ready for his kiss.

Lowering his head, he angled his mouth to fit over hers. The first touch of her lips stole his breath, the second searched his soul.

Her arms circled his shoulders, pulling him closer, tighter. He thrust his tongue into her mouth, joining with hers, his kiss hard and demanding, like the need pounding inside him. And she answered with the same ferocity. As if she could get enough.

He remembered thinking how fragile she looked. Yet the woman kissing him now was far from fragile. She wanted this as much as he did. Needed it. And knowing that fired his blood past reason.

He skimmed his hand through her hair, over her shoulders. His fingers found the buttons of her blouse. One by one, he slipped them free, loosening the silken fabric to expose her silkier skin underneath. Without releasing her lips, he glided her blouse off her shoulders and arms and let it fall to the floor.

She shivered, goose bumps rising on her skin.

He ran his hands over her arms. "Cold?" The question slipped out between kisses.

"No. I just want you close. Need you close. I want your skin on mine." She clawed at the buttons of his shirt.

Grasping the collar of his shirt, he ripped, popping the buttons free. Then he pulled her tight to his bare chest. Circling his hands around her back, he found the clasp of her bra. Fingers suddenly clumsy as a teenage boy's, he worked the hooks loose and slipped the bra off between their bodies.

Her breasts spilled free, their weight pressing against his chest, the warmth of her skin burning into him.

He released her lips. "I want to look at you. I want to remember everything about you, about this night." He stepped back from her.

The dim light from the front hall caressed her pale skin her breasts were so beautiful, fuller and riper than before, swelled with nurturing their son. The son they had conceived together. "You're so beautiful. Like a dream." He gathered her close, slipping his hands over her soft mounds, cupping their abundance. Her nipples were larger, as well. They stood out as if begging him to take them into his mouth.

And he couldn't resist. He cupped a heavy breast in his hand, lowered his mouth to her and gently kissed the nipple.

She moaned and arched her back.

He found her other breast with his hand, holding, caressing. He closed his lips around her nipple, teasing it with his tongue as he sucked.

Sweetness filled his mouth, the taste of her, the essence. He sucked one breast, then the other, the flavor of her milk washing through him, rinsing him clean.

Her fingers combed through his hair. She bent and pressed her lips to his forehead in a gentle kiss. A kiss that took his breath away.

She peeled his shirt from him. Cool air rushed over his skin, making her heat all the more delicious., all the more compelling. Her fingers smoothed over his back, his stomach, stoking his desire. Desire so long denied.

He raised his head and captured her lips. She opened her mouth for him, and he thrust his tongue inside, taking, claiming. She matched his hunger, his need. Deepening the kiss, she pulled him down onto the couch, his body over hers.

He wanted to be closer, to touch her, to claim her. He found the hem of her skirt and pushed it up her thighs until it bunched around her waist.

Then she was helping him, pushing down her panty hose and opening her thighs.

He slipped his hands between her legs. She was warm and wet for him, as eager for him as he was for her. He caressed her, gently at first, then building in intensity until she arched her back and pressed against him. A moan slid from her lips.

Her hand found the waistband of his slacks. She unfastened his belt and lowered the zipper. Pushing beneath the elastic of his briefs, she slipped her hand around him and cradled him with her gentle fingers.

He was plenty hard before she touched him. But with the embrace of her fingers, he thought he'd explode. He wanted to bury himself inside her. To lose himself in her warmth. In her love. In the dream.

She moved her fingers over him, stoking the fire until he couldn't stand it another moment. He grasped her hand, stilling her movement and hurriedly divested her of her panty hose and himself of his pants. She pressed a hand on his chest, pushing him back against the couch. In one movement she straddled him. Her hand found him, holding him, positioning him. And then she lowered herself to him.

He thrust upward, meeting her, sinking into her. Their grasps mingled. She clung to his shoulders, her breasts surging into his face. He held her against him, his lips skimming over her breasts, devouring her nipples.

She arched her back. Pressing her lisp to his forehead, she raked her fingers through his hair. "Edward." His name sounded primitive on her lips, so full of need, of desire.

And his desire answered, so long repressed.

The muscles in her thighs tightened against him. He grasped her hips, raising and lowering her over him, sinking deeper with each stroke, until the were joined together, melded by the heat, and he could tell where he left off and she began.

A sound escaped her lips.. A murmur low in her throat. Her breathing grew ragged. She grasped his shoulders, her fingernails digging into his flesh. He drove into her, her softness sheathing him again and again. Her body convulsed in an intimate embrace. And his body answered. He poured himself into her, his strength, his judgments, his fears. And she accepted it all, without question, and gave back nothing but love.

Love.

And he loved her, too. He always had.

Even those long months when they were apart. Even when he was angry over the choices she'd made. Even now when the future was so uncertain. He loved her. She was his fantasy, his dream.

And more than anything, he wanted to get lost in the dream and never wake up.

ISABELLA CURLED INTO Edward's embrace, her back pressing against his chest. His arm draped over her, his hand cupping her breast. Sun glowed through the window, almost as bright as the glow inside her. After they'd made love the first time, they'd checked on Luke and retired to her bedroom with the intent to sleep. But once they'd climbed into bed, they soon realized sleep was the furthest thing from their minds.

A smile spread over her lips, and warmth curled around her heart. It had been too long since Edward had touched her. Too long since she'd felt so alive, so sated, so loved. Too long since she'd felt anything but endless loneliness. But last night all of that had fallen away. The judgment, the hurt, the loneliness. And they'd been left with nothing but each other.

Nothing but their love.

It was as she always hoped it could be. She snuggled closer to soak up just a little more of his heat.

"Good morning."

She flipped onto her back and looked into his green eyes. "I didn't realize you were awake. Why didn't you say something?"

His hair was tousled, making him look like a beach bum enjoying life. So different from the past days. The past years. "I was enjoying watching you sleep."

"I don't want to hear one word about my snoring."

He smiled, her green eyes as bright as the sky outside the window. "Don't worry. I would hold it against you. It's actually kind of cure." Placing one hand on either side of her face, he tilted her chin back and claimed her lips.

His kiss was warm and sweet and held nothing back. She pressed her body against him under the sheets, naked skin to naked skin. She could feel his erection stir and press against her thigh.

He ended the kiss and looked into her eyes. "You'd better be careful. We'll never get out of this bed."

"That suits me just fine. But unfortunately there's no danger of that happening."

"You underestimate me."

"No. You underestimate our son. He should be waking up any minute now." She glanced in the direction of the hall leading to Luke's room and then shot Edward a teasing grin. "Disappointed?"

"A little. But I can't wait to see him."

As if on cue the baby monitor at the head of the bed erupted in a tiny wail. "Sounds like you got your wish." She tossed back the sheets and climbed from the bed.

He skimmed her bare skin with an appreciative gaze. "If I'd known I'd get a show and a baby. I'd have made my wish sooner."

"A show?" She raised a brow. "You mean, now you get to see my stretch marks in the sunlight."

"I didn't I tell you how much stretch marks turn me on." He continued his perusal of her body.

Warmth spread over every inch of skin his gaze touched. His teasing and the naked appreciation in his eyes made her feel truly sexy for the first time since she'd given birth. She padded to the bathroom on bare feet, grabbed her robe from the hook on the back of the door and slipped it on.

"Censor." Edward said.

She could keep the smile off her face. "If you stay right where you are, maybe you'll get another glimpse." She strode out of the room and down the hall in the direction of Luke's room. All the endless months she and Edward had been apart, she hadn't been able to give up hope that someday they'd be together like this. Like they were last night. No judgments, no bitterness, nothing but love between them. And her hopes had been realized. All she had to do was look into his eyes to know she wasn't alone anymore. And now that Luke was back safe and sound, they'd all be together. A family.

When she entered the room, Luke let out a squeal. He rolled to his tummy and lifted his head from the mattress to peer through the crib rails.

"Good morning, sweetheart." She crossed the room and lifted him from the crib. Snuggling his little body close, she kissed the top of his head and breathed in his sweet baby scent.

Tears clogged the back of her throat. He really was home. Safe. And nothing could change that. She wouldn't let it. She laid him on the changing table and changed his diaper, her fingers moving with the deftness of a well-remembered ritual. When he was clean and dry, she gave him a bright smile. "Do you want to go see Daddy? He can't wait to see you."

His little face puckered into a frown. A whimper escaped his lips.

"And you can eat breakfast, too. Don't worry." She carried him back down the hall, to where Edward was waiting, propped against the headboard. Soft light filtered through the curtains and glowed on his bare chest. The sheet pooled around his waist. A smile lifted his lips and reflected in his eyes, outshining the brilliance of the sun.

"Here's the little man." She laid Luke on Edward's chest, circled the bed and climbed under the sheets next to him.

Edward held Luke close, looking at him as if he'd never seen anything so incredible in his life.

Luke's little face collapsed into a grimace. Then an outright frown. A protest rose from his lips.

Edward shot Bella a helpless look. "He really does look like me, doesn't he? When I'm in a bad mood."

She couldn't help but laugh. "He's not in a bad mood. He's just hungry." She took Luke from Edward and loosened her robe. He latched on to her breast with a voracious hunger and started nursing. He hadn't forgotten how, just as he hadn't forgotten his mommy.

Edward circled his arm around her shoulders and pulled her close while Luke nursed.

She laid her head against his shoulder. She'd lied to herself last night. And she'd lied to Edward. She told him she'd be happy with whatever he could give her, whether it was one night, one week, or one hour. But she'd never be happy with anything less than this. What she saw in his eyes and felt in her heart. What they had right now.

She looked up at him. His attention was turned to the window, a faraway look took place in his eyes.

"Tell me what you're thinking."

A smile flitted over his lips. "I was just thinking that this is a dream, you and me and Luke. A dream I never want to wake up from.

A chill inched up her spine. Last night he'd talked about the difference between what he wanted to believe concerning his father and what was real. "What we have is no dream, Edward. It's as real as this bed. These sheets."

He touched a finger to her forehead, smoothing loose strands of hair back from her face. "It's just as good as a dream. I never knew it could be so good."

"But?"

A furrow dug between his brows. "But nothing. I love you."

A familiar ache settled in her chest. Maybe she was being paranoid. Maybe it was her imagination. Edward was still here in bed with her, with Luke. He'd told her he loved her. Nothing had changed since the moment before.

But everything had changed.

"What's wrong, Bella?"

She blew a breath through tense lips. "Maybe nothing. I don't know."

"Care to explain?"

"Last night you talked about how you dreamed your dad would be a good person someday, but in reality he fell short."

"He did."

"Yes. And the same thing happened with my father, too, didn't it? You wanted him to be a man you could look up to, a mentor. But he didn't live up to the dream you had of him."

"What are you getting at?"

"I don't want to be another dream, Edward. Not this time."

He tightened his arm around her shoulder. "I didn't mean it that way. I just meant that what we have is so good it doesn't seem real."

"But that's just it. Don't you see? I can't live up to the fantasy. Sooner or later I'll disappoint you, like I did last time we were together."

"Last time was about your father, what he did."

"No, it wasn't. Not totally. It was about us, too. It was about you writing me off as soon as I disappointed you. As if you were waiting for me to let you down the way your father and my father did. I'm not walking that tightrope again, Edward. I can't and Luke isn't going to walk it, either."

Throwing back the sheets, he swung his legs over the edge of the bed. She expected him to stand and pace across the room. It had always been his way of escaping something that was bothering him. But he remained on the bed. Sunlight through the curtains cast soft shadows across his muscled back.

She swallowed into an aching throat. "I thought things were different this morning, that everything had changed. But I was wrong. We're still the same people. And we still carry the same baggage."

"I want things to be different. I want to be different." Anguish laced his voice and twined around her heart.

She wrapped her arms tighter around Luke, holding on for dear life. "You have to believe you deserve happiness. You have to believe happiness is more that just a dream."

He turned to face her on the bed. "I want to. Believe me. But I don't know if I can. I don't even know how to start."

"I can't tell you how, Edward. That's up to you. You either do it or you don't."

He turned away from her and buried his face in his hands.

Her throat closed and tears stung her sinuses. She loved him so much she ached. But what good did it do? "Last night I told you I'd be content with whatever you wanted to give me, a night, a week, or even an hour. But I was wrong I want all of you. And if I have to choose between sitting around waiting for the dream to end or being alone, I'll have to be content with being alone."

EDWARD DESCENDED THE STAIRS and strode through the foyer and into the kitchen. He had showered and shaved, but the hot water and steamy bathroom had done nothing to clear the anguish tumbling through his mind.

Isabella sat at the kitchen table spooning some sort of baby food into Luke's mouth. She looked up as he entered. Sunlight streamed through the open windows, highlighting the freckles scattered across the bridge of her nose like the spots on a fawn and sparking her hairs natural red highlights. It was the perfect domestic picture, a beautiful mother caring for her child. Only the sorrow in her eyes and the creases around her lips spoiled the effect. "What are you going to do?"

Damn good question. What was he going to do?

If only he could fall on his knees, insist she was wrong about him and ask her to be his forever. But he couldn't. Because as much as he didn't want to admit it, she was right.

His heart seized in his chest. He couldn't lose Isabella. Not now that he'd found her again. And he didn't want to go through the rest of his life alone, not trusting his own feelings, never knowing if they would change the moment reality intruded. But Bella was right. He couldn't put her through that, not again. And he dam well could subject Luke to that kind of uncertainty.

He peered out the window at the sun-stained day. An unmarked police car sat parked in the neighbor's driveway, the outlines of two officers dark against the brilliant sun. From their vantage point, they could easily see the entire back and sides of Bella's house. He'd seen the other car out front this morning after his shower. At least he didn't have to worry about security this morning. There was no way Smythe could worm his way past that kind of scrutiny. And even if he somehow managed it, the security system Edward had had installed would alert police before the scum had a change to step over the threshold.

Bella was still watching him, waiting for an answer.

HE met her gaze. "I'm going to leave. AT least for a while."

She nodded as if she expected his answer. Worry lines etched her forehead and flanked her lips.

"Don't worry. You and Luke will be safe here." He gestured out the window. "The police have turned this place into a fortress. No one could get in without their knowing it."

"I saw them. I'm not worried about that. I'm worried about you."

"I'll be fine. Smythe won't hurt me. Not yet. He hasn't finished making me suffer."

"I'm not just talking about Smythe."

No. He knew she wasn't. "I'll be okay. I always am."

"Where are you going?"

Another good question. "I'm going back to the source."

THE SOFT mechanical roar of the garage door lifting filtered through the floorboards and echoed in the concrete basement. James Timothy Smythe looked toward the sound and smiled. He'd been waiting for this moment for days – no years. The moment of his revenge. And it was almost here.

It was about damn time.

He stretched out on the pitiful, lumpy couch he'd spent the night on. It had been good of nanny to call him the moment Masen and the brunette found the kid. She'd been so worried , the poor old bat, fit to be tied. She hadn't understood he really didn't care about the baby, that the kid was no more than a tool, a way to manipulate the father.

He hated to lose that tool, of course. It had been fun wielding that much power over Masen. But he'd manage just fine without the kid. Especially now that he was in place for his next move.

He propped his athletic shoes on the scarred coffee table in front of him. All he had to do was sit and wait for the car to start and back down the driveway. For the garage door to close behind it. For his hunger, for revenge to build toward its lustful climax.

Closing his eyes, he tired to picture Isabella Swan. The chilly sound of her voice. The superior glint in her eyes. The way she stood with her chin up and her chest thrust out like she was challenging the world. Like she was better than everyone else.

He smiled.

She wouldn't be chilly and superior with him. He wouldn't allow it. His fingers itched to grasp that long, brown hair, to strip off her clothes, to put the bitch in her place and to show her what revenge was really all about.

But that wasn't all. This time he had a little extra planned. Isabella wouldn't be like the others. He'd changed since he'd gotten out of prison. He'd grown. And his ambitions had grown, too.

He'd enjoyed silencing Lurrenette Rasula and Victoria Melbring.

He'd enjoyed closing his hands around their throats.

He'd enjoyed squeezing the life out of them at the same time he'd pounded his rage into them.

And with Isabella Swan he would be some much more – more brutal, more demeaning, more deadly. He'd been thinking up ideas for days. And he'd try out every single one. After all, she deserved it. She and Edward Masen deserved everything he could give them.

The car purred to life in the garage and backed out. The door whirred closed, and all that was left was silence. James looked around the basement rec-room, the shabby couch, the paneled walls, the corner filled with boxes. Masen and the brunette thought they were out of his reach. They though he could never get past the police protecting the house. They though he could never breech the security system. They thought they were perfectly safe in their little love next.

But Isabella was far from safe. Not while he was around. A mere twenty thousand dollars had convinced the the technician who'd installed the security system to give him the code. And even if the entire Seattle police department was milling around outside the house, they couldn't protect the brunette. Because James didn't need to break through the police perimeter to get into her house.

**He was already here.**


	16. Chapter 16

Chapter Sixteen

Edward Lowered himself into a wooden chair and glanced around the shabby living room. Back when he was an assistant district attorney trying cases, he'd visited a number of the halfway houses to question witnesses. But he'd never stepped inside this particular one.

It looked comfortable, if living with eight fellow felons could be considered comfortable. His father had served his sentence for involuntary manslaughter by use of a motor vehicle a number of years ago, but that didn't mean he'd reformed. The drunk driving hadn't magically stopped. Neither had the petty theft. He'd even visited his old cronies in prison when he'd stolen a junker and gone for a drunken joy ride. A combination of all his talents.

Although Edward hadn't seen his father since his mother died, that didn't mean he hadn't kept tabs on the old man. And it didn't mean he'd been immune from further disappointment, either.

He sure as hell hadn't given his son much to be proud of.

"Hello, Edward."

A chill ran up his spine. For all his drinking and smoking, the old man still sounded the same as when Edward was a boy. His voice was low, almost sweet. A voice that could charm the sun out from the clouds, his mother had always said. But it didn't have that effect on Edward. Not anymore. Now it just made his gut clench with anger.

"I need to talk to you."

The old man shuffled to the chair opposite of Edward at the scarred table. His face was lined beyond his years. His hair was coarse and gray and stuck out from his head in unkempt clumps. Unlike his voice, his youthful appearance and light brown hair had become victims of booze and smoke. But even sagging skin and two days' growth of silver beard couldn't camouflage the chiseled jaw, the cleft chin, so like Edward's, so like Luke's.

The old man's lips crooked into a grin, exposing stained teeth. "Finally come so see your dear old dad, eh? It's about time you acted like a son."

Edward clenched his hands into fists under the table. What he wouldn't give to launch himself over the table, to drive his fists into that smug old face, to take out the years of grief and guilt and bitterness on the man who conspired it.

"Believe me, if I had a choice I wouldn't be your son."

"Funny how we don't have that choice, eh?" The old man had the nerve to chuckle. "Now spit it out. What could you possibly want with me after all these years?"

What had he come for? What did he hope this meeting would prove? That he could forgive his father? That he could forget what the old man had done to his mother? To him? There wasn't a change in hell of that happening.

What, then?

"I wanted to see you. I wanted to look into your face and know that I'm nothing like you."

"No can do. You're a regular chip off the old block, sonny boy.:

Edward took a deep breath and willed himself to remain seated. "I'm nothing like you."

"You can't B.S. a B., son.I can see me in your eyes just as clearly as I could fifteen years ago." He shrugged his bony shoulders. "Sure, you don't drink and you don't steal and all the other crap they've been saying I do. But you're hard, my boy. Just like me. Like I said, I can see it"

"If I am, it was you that made me hard."

"Guilty as charged. Isn't that what you lawyer types say? And who do you think made me this way? You ever think about that?"

No. He hadn't. And he didn't care to think about it now. Knowing his father, he'd only pin the blame on Edward, or his mother or society in general. "You made yourself that way, old man."

"You may be right about that. And if that's true you have only to look in the mirror to find who made you."

Uneasiness clamped down on Edward's shoulders. Had he chosen bitterness the way his father had chosen booze? Was judging others as addictive to him as alcohol to an alcoholic?

He shook his head. His father was damn good at turning everything around, making Edward blame himself for anything the old man did. Just as he'd made his mother feel as if she'd failed him. "Did you feel anything when Mom died? Did it even register that you'd killed her?"

His father flinched as if Edward had reached across the table and hit him. "You leave your mother out of this."

"I'm not talking about Mom. I'm talking about you. Did you ever face the fact that you killed her? That it was your fault she died?"

"I faced everything I needed to face. I had six years to do nothing but think about it, remember?"

"Not long enough. Six years doesn't made up for her death. Not even close."

"No. There ain't enough prison time in the world to made up for that."

At first, Edward wasn't sure he'd heard the old man right. He'd offered no excuses, shifted no blame. He sat back in his chair and watched his father through narrowed eyes.

The old man clawed a hand trough his gray hair. "I only wish your precious court system had done its job."

"There it is. The excuses. The blame shifting. For a second there I thought you might have changed. Just a little. But you're just as pitiful as you always were. You're just getting craftier at avoiding fault."

"I'm not shifting blame. I'm starting fact. If the courts had put me away when they should have, I never would have been driving the car that night. And your mother would still be here." His voice cracked. Tears pooled his eyes. "I know it's my fault she's dead, Edward. It's something I'll never forgive myself for. I deprived you of a mother. And I deprived the world of an angel."

Edward's lungs ached as if he'd just had the wind knocked out of him. He tried to recover, to drag oxygen into his lungs, but he couldn't. He couldn't do anything but stare at his father's face and listen.

"Your mother was the rarest of all people – a women who loved unconditionally, who forgave without question, who lived life with grace. You and me are alike, Edward. But there's one big difference. We both had scoundrels for old men, but my mother was little more than a whore. You lucked out. And angel raised you. And if I could wish for anything in this world besides bringing her back, I'd wish that you'd grow up to be more like her."

Edward sat and stared, his body numb. His old man was right. Edward had spent his life trying to punish his father, to get revenge against his father with every defendant khe put behind bars. And in doing so, he had forgotten totally about his mother, about the example she set, about the woman she was.

"I had a good thing with your mother, Edward. Something so good, I couldn't let myself believe it. And I didn't feel like I deserved it."

He pulled his thoughts back from his mother and focused on the old man again. "You didn't.

A tired sigh escaped his father's lips. "You're right. I didn't. Why do you think I drank?"

"I suppose you're going to blame that on Mom or society. Anyone but you."

He shook his head. "There you're wrong. It was me. All me. I drank because I knew I'd let your mother down. And you. I was afraid I wasn't enough of a man, enough of a father. And as a result, I did exactly what I was afraid of doing."

Tightness assaulted Edward's throat. Isabella's words beat at the back of his mind. You have to believe you deserve happiness. You have to believe happiness is more than a dream.

"Prison wasn't the price I had to pay for your mother's death. Living with what I've done, what I've lost through my own cowardice and stupidity, is the price. And it's a price I will never finish paying until I'm buried in the ground."

Edward ran a hand over his face and leaned back in his chair. He'd gotten things wrong. He'd gotten things all wrong.

He'd been so careful to live a good, responsible life – a life different from his fathers – and he hadn't escaped being like his father at all. The old man was right. In the matters that really counted he fit the old man's mold to a tee.

The disappointment, the bitterness, the judgment weren't reality, they were a nightmare. And Isabella wasn't a dream. She was reality. Her love. Her acceptance. The life she offered him. They were as real as his mother's love for him. And he'd been too stupid – to cowardly – to see it.

He looked into his father's eyes, green like his own. "I never thought I'd thank you for anything. But I'm thanking you now."

His father's eyes crinkled around the corners and his mouth stretched into a tooth-baring grin. "For what?"

"For holding up that mirror and making me look."

"Your welcome, son. That is if I'm allowed to call you that now." His father gave him a knowing look.

"It's fine with me, now I need to get home to my soon-to-be wife and my own son." Edward let information slip on purpose.

His father's eyes lit up and his grin got bigger. "You mean to tell me that I'm a grand father?"

Edwards offered him a smile and nodded.

"So who's the girl. I'm guessing she was part of the reason you showed up here today?"

"Well. It's a long story."

"I have time."

ISABELLA WATCHED Luke's little chest rise and fall in perfect rhythm in the muted light coming from the closed curtains. The morning had been challenging, to say the least. Whether the baby was struggling to adjust to returning to his home and old routine or whether he was responding to the tension he could feel in his mother was hard to say. But thankfully he was quiet for now. For now he was at peace.

Which was much more than she could say for herself.

She stepped into the hall and closed the door behind her. Shutting her eyes, she pressed her fingers to her lids until color mushroomed behind them. Pain pulsed in her head like the throbbing red and blue of police lights. But that was nothing compared to the pain pulsing with each beat of her heart.

Maybe it would have been better if she had never spent the past few days with Edward. Getting to know him again. To miss him. To love him. Maybe it would have been better if they'd never made it to the brink of a new life together only to discover that nothing had changed. Maybe a host of scenarios would have made things better. But she didn't think so.

Opening her eyes, she tiptoed down the hall and descended the stairs. She loved Edward. She had for years. And even if she hadn't been with him the past days, sharing with him, loving him, that love would still be there. And she would feel just as alone. Just as powerless.

She padded across the foyer's wood floor in stockinged feet and made her way into the living room. The day was still brilliant, warm rays of sun shine filtering though the sheers covering the windows like a happy glow. As if the very weather was mocking her.

She crossed the living room to the window overlooking the street and pulled aside the sheers with one hand. Two police officers sat in one of the cars parked on the street and one officer sat on a park bench on the other side of the house. She should feel safe. Secure.

Then why did she feel so vulnerable? So powerless?

She let the curtain fall across the window. She knew the answer. And she couldn't do anything to solve the problem. Edward needed to sort through his own feelings, his own past. She couldn't do anything to smooth his path. Or to influence him. Or to make things turn out in the end.

And that's what scared her.

She crossed the room and lowered herself onto the couch. The cushions plumped around her, so soft, so comforting. She leaned her head back and closed her eyes. If only comforting her mind was so easy. If only comforting her heart ….

A sound so soft she wasn't sure she'd heard it broke through her thoughts. The sound of a footstep.

In a house where she was supposed to be alone. Her heart stilled in her chest. Opening her eyes, she bolted off the couch and spun in the direction of the sound.

James Timothy Smythe's hard blue eyes met her own. His fingers clutched a rag and on his belt draped a length of rope. "Hello, bitch. I've been waiting for this a long time. Now you're going to pay."

Fear clogged her throat. Shock paralyzed her limbs. She had to get away. She had to run. If she could reach the front door, the police outside would help her, save her.

Smythe moved into the room, blocking her path to the front door. "You know, I wasn't going to hurt the kid. I'm no sicko. If you wouldn't have screwed things up for me, I would have just left him for Nanny to raise. But you wouldn't let me do that, would you? Well, now you're all going to pay." He raised the rag and smiled. Chloroform.

She glanced at the front window. Thanks to the sheers, she couldn't see outside. And the police couldn't see what was happening inside, either. But if she could reach the window, if she could rip the sheers aside and get the officers' attention –

She dodged to the side and dashed in the direction of the front window.

Smythe reacted just as quickly. His footsteps thundered across the plush carpet behind her. His curse echoed in her ears.

She lunged forward, reaching for the curtain. Her fingers brushed the fabric just as a fist closed around her hair.

He yanked, pulling her backward. Away from the window. Away from help. Pain ripped her scalp. Fingers bit into her throat.

**And the sickly sweet rag pressed over her face.**


	17. Chapter 17

Chapter Seventeen

Isabella held her breath and forced her muscles to go limp. Every cell in her body clamored to fight. Every instinct told her to scream. But she couldn't fight and she couldn't scream. That would only make Smythe close his hands around her throat as he had before. Choke her until all she could do was gasp for breath. Gasp for oxygen. She'd breathe in chloroform.

She had to stay awake. She had to find a way to save Luke. To save herself. She couldn't let him hurt her baby.

Smythe finally pulled the cloth from her mouth and tossed it on the floor. He released her, letting her fall to the carpet in a heap, like a piece of discarded trash.

Her head hit the floor hard, the soft carpet cushioning just enough to keep her from plunging into blackness. She struggled to breath without gasping for air.

"You think you're so much better than me, don't you, brunette bitch." Smythe's smooth voice took on a guttural edge. "Well, we'll just see what you think when I'm finished with you. And we'll see what Masen thinks when he finds you and the kid dead."

She bit the inside of her cheek to stop the scream building in her throat. Blood filled her mouth, its copper sweetness choking her. She had to bide her time. She had to catch Smythe off guard. It was her only chance.

He grasped the rope from his belt and tied a knot around one of her ankles. He pulled the knot tight, the rope biting into her leg. He wrenched her leg up tight behind her.

She remembered the dark lines around Connie Rasula's wrists and ankles. Oh, God, he planned to hog-tie her. Once he did that, she would be helpless. She could do nothing but watch as he did anything her wanted to her.

Watch and wait to die.

She had to make her move. She had to find an opening, or it would be too late. She tensed her muscles, waiting for her chance.

Smythe grabbed one of her wrists and twisted it behind her back.

Pain knifed through her shoulder. She stifled a cry of pain. Dizziness swam through her head. No. She couldn't give in to the pain. She couldn't pass out. She had to concentrate. She forced herself to focus on Smythe's legs, his balance.

He shifted positions, stepping over her to get a better angle to tie the knot around her wrist. A knife blade flashed in his hands, poised to cut a section of rope.

Terror stabbed her. She couldn't think about the knife. She couldn't let herself imagine that steel blade slicing into her flesh. Into Luke's flesh. She had to make her move. It was her only chance. Taking a deep breath, she grabbed his ankle with her fee hand and lifted with all her strength.

Caught by surprise Smythe toppled backward. He landed hard on the floor, the thump reverberating through the house. A curse erupted from his lips.

Isabella scrambled to her feet. Smythe was between her and the window. She spun in the other direction and raced for the door, dragging the rope behind her. She had to get outside. She had to alert the police. It was her only chance. To save Luke. To save Edward. And to save her self.

Her stockinged feet skidded on the hardwood floor. She could feel Smythe climb to his feet, she could hear him thundering behind her. Growing closer. Reaching fo her.

He was going to be too late.

She lunged for the door. Her fingers closed around the brass knob.

The rope yanked tight and cut into her ankle. Her foot skidded out from under her. She slammed into the closed door before crashing to the floor.

A LOUD CRASH echoed through the house, audible even above the whir of the lowering garage door. Edward's heart stilled for a moment and then erupted in a frenzy of beats.

There could be dozens of explanations for the sound. Isabella could have tripped. Or she could have dropped a pot in the kitchen or knocked over a chair – anything. But Edward didn't think so.

Something was wrong. He scrambled from the car and raced for the door to the kitchen. His lungs seized in his chest. Smythe couldn't be in the house. It was impossible. The police were still out front. He couldn't have gotten through their surveillance. Could her?

Edward burst into the kitchen. The house was still. Quiet. Leaving the door open behind him, he stole across the hardwood floor, trying to make his footsteps as silent as possible. If Smythe was in the house, he didn't want him to know he was back. The rapist wasn't very big, but he was strong, his body built to sinewy hardness in the prison weight room. Edward need to get the jump on him.

Damn. If only he had his gun. If only he hadn't left it upstairs, safely locked away. If only he hadn't been so sure Isabella would be safe. So sure the police would protect her. But those were just 'if's after all, what were they worth. Nothing. They were just fake hope.

How the hell did Smythe get in the house?

A muffled gasp came from the direction of the living room.

Bella.

Edward's gut clenched. If the bastard had hurt her, he didn't stand a chance. Edward would dismember him with his bare hands.

He turned the corner into the foyer. Circling the staircase, he reached the entrance to the living room.

Isabella lay on the floor. Smythe hunched over her, a rope in his hands. His full weight drove down on the knee he had planted in the center of her back.

Rage roared in Edward's ears and flashed red in the corners of his vision. He glanced at the front door. The police were still outside. The safest thing for him to do was to throw open the door and call them in. They had the guns and the manpower to neutralize Smythe.

He glanced back into the living room and took a step toward the door. Just then Smythe completed his knot and reached for something on his belt. Filtered sunlight glinted off a sharp, steel blade.

Edward froze. He had to take on Smythe himself. He couldn't summon the police. If he did, Smythe would use the knife on Isabella. He'd kill her right in front of Edward's eyes, long before the police burst through the door. Smythe would never allow himself to be captured or killed before he had his revenge.

Edward sucked in a sharp breath. He balled his hands into fists and tensed his muscles.

Edward sprang. Racing across the living room floor, he hurled himself at Smythe. He caught the rapist in the back with all his weight. Smythe careened to the floor, Edward on top of him.

Pain sliced into his thigh.

The knife.

The blade flashed in Smythe's hand, muted with blood. Ignoring the pain in his leg, Edward grabbed for Smythe's knife hand. His fingers closed around his muscular wrist. Grasping. Holding. Pinning his arm to the floor.

Smythe uttered a curse. He twisted and thrust backward.

Edward's free arm skidded on the soft carpet and then crumpled.

Smythe pushed backward again, rolling Edward onto his back. He came down hard, his back to Edward's chest, knocking the air from his lungs.

Gasping ,Edward tried to focus. He had to hold Smythe's knife arm. He couldn't release his grip. If he did, he'd be dead.

Smythe twisted around to face Edward, struggling to wrench the knife free. He stabbed into the carpet, the blade nicking Edward's forearm.

Edward grunted. Blood oozed down his arm.

The knife flashed again. Smythe slashing and missing.

Edward's grip on Smythe's knife arm slipped. He couldn't hold on much longer. Gritting his teeth, he pounded his fist into Smythe's face. Once. Twice. Three times. Blood from Smythe's nose covered his knuckles, sticky and slick at the same time. But the rapist continued to struggle.

A hand reached over Smythe's forehead and covered his face. Fingers dug into his eyes.

Isabella.

She yanked Smythe's head back. With her other hand, she pressed a clothe over his face. Chloroform. Isabella was using his own chloroform rag against him.

Smythe trashed, trying to escape the fumes, trying to break away.

Edward held on with all his strength. Just a minute or two and Smythe would be unconscious.

Time seemed to move in slow motion. Smythe's thrashing slowed. Finally it stopped. His body went limp and draped across Edward, pinning him to the carpet.

Edward looked up into Bella's wide brown eyes, so frightened yet so strong. Her fingers still dug into Smythe's eyes. Her hand still clamped the rag over his mouth and nose, knuckles white with exertion.

"Is he out? Is it over?"

Edward nodded. "It's over. Thank God, it's over."

She exhaled a heavy breath and let the rag slip from her hand and fall to the floor. She pulled her fingers from Smythe's eyes. His head lolled forward onto Edward's chest. Bella sat on the floor, staring at the blood on her fingertips as if she wasn't sure how it got there.

Edward pushed James's body off and crawled to his knees. Blood oozed from his knife wounds, but he didn't care.

He moved to Isabella's side. Reaching for her, he smoothed strands of brown hair from her cheeks and slipped his arms around her, pulling her close.

Her gaze moved to the blood smeared over his skin, shirt and jeans. Fear flared in her eyes. "You're hurt." She struggled to climb to her feet, but he held her in place.

"I'm fine."

"No, you're not. You're cut and bleeding."

He almost smiled. It was so like Isabella to care about his welfare above everything else. She would give anything for him. Why hadn't he seen it before? And why hadn't he been willing to do the same for her? "The cuts aren't that deep. I'll be fine. We'll tend to them, but not now."

She searched his eyes, not understanding.

"Now we need to talk."

"Whatever it is, it can wait. You–"

He held a finger to her lips, halting the flow of words. "This has waited too long already. It can't wait any longer." Her almost lost her. Almost lost the only thing he couldn't survive losing. And he wasn't going to waste another moment. Not before he told her how he felt. Not before he claimed her as his own. "I love you, Isabella."

She looked away from him, eyeing Smythe's prone body. "I love you, too, Edward. Are you sure he won't wake up?"

He laughed and glanced at the scum lying in a heap on the floor. He'd been so wrapped up in what he had to say to Bella, in making her understand, that he'd pushed Smythe from his mind. "After what you did to him, I'm sure. But if you like, we can walk out to the porch and summon the police while we talk."

She nodded. Arm tight around his waist, she stepped toward the door.

He limped by her side. This arrangement wasn't his idea of romantic, but it didn't matter. He needed to tell her how he felt, to get on with the rest of their lives. And he wouldn't wait. Not one more minute. "Like I said before, I love you, Bella."

She looked up at him, her hair falling back from her face. Her eyes were still wide, tears of relief pooling in the corners. She'd been through so much. The hell Edward had put her through the last two years, the kidnapping of her baby, and now Smythe's attack. And by pure willpower, she'd survived it all.

His throat closed. How could her possibly tell her all he felt? "I know you're not a dream, that what we have together isn't a dream."

A slight smile lifted the corners of her mouth.

"You were right this morning when you said I never felt I deserved happiness. I didn't. I was too busy assigning blame to my father, to myself. It never occurred to me that reality could be different from the way I saw it. It never occurred to me that in a way, I was making my own misery."

Isabella's hand found his arm, her fingers stroking his skin as if encouraging him to go on.

"When you came into my life, you didn't fit with the misery I'd planned for myself. So I was always waiting for proof that I was right, that what you and I had was a mistake."

"And you found it."

"Yes. And if I hadn't, I would have made something up. Anything to keep seeing the world the way I told myself it was."

"And now?"

"Now I see the world doesn't have to be that way. You showed me that, Isabella."

Her eyes searched his. Concern creased her brow and compressed her lips.

"I saw my father today." He still hadn't worked out all of his feelings about his father. Hell, that would probably take years. But at least he had a start.

"And?"

"He reminded me of one very important person I've forgotten in all this time. My mother." He stopped walking. Trailing his fingers over Bella's skin, he cupped her smooth cheek. "She was very much like you. Loving. Giving. Ready to see the best in people, no matter if they deserved it or not."

"I wish I could have met her."

"You would have loved her. And she would have loved you."

Bella's lips softened into a smile.

"I've had good things in my life. And I can reach out and accept good into my life again." He gripped the doorknob.

She nodded, tears pooling in her eyes and transforming them into a shimmering brown. "I know you can."

His heart seized in his chest. She believed in him. She always had. He'd just been too blind to see it. He gathered her hand in his. "I always though that if this time came, I'd get down on one knee with flowers, music, and a diamond ring to give you."

A tear broke loose and trickled down her cheek. "Music, flowers, and jewelry are overrated sometimes."

"I'm glad you feel that way, because I can't wait another minute." He swallowed into a dry throat. "Will you marry me, Bella? Will you and Luke be the good in my life? Will you be my family?"

She wiped her cheek with the back of one hand and gave him a watery smile. "On one condition."

"Anything."

"That you be the good in my life, as well."

He pulled open the door. "Just try and stop me."

THE END


End file.
